


Burning

by sorrymom



Series: Burning [1]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Arranged Marriage, F/F, angst with an ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 82,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrymom/pseuds/sorrymom
Summary: A grueling civil war has ended. Nayeon is now Fire Lord, but maintaining peace requires a few more sacrifices.An Avatar the Last Airbender AU.
Relationships: Chou Tzuyu/Son Chaeyoung, Hirai Momo/Minatozaki Sana, Im Nayeon/Myoui Mina, Park Jisoo | Jihyo/Yoo Jeongyeon
Series: Burning [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862230
Comments: 317
Kudos: 1012





	1. the beginning always feels halfway through

Below the palace, the Fire Lily Festival roars through its last night. Fireworks spring and fizzle out in the haze of August, people shouting and singing. It’s been a long time since Nayeon has been down there. Not because she isn’t allowed. Nayeon is allowed anything, through sheer force of will more than birthright. 

The last time Nayeon had been to the Festival was before the war. She had snuck away from the Fire Nation Academy for Girls, late at night, leading Jeongyeon, Momo, and Sana through a mile of pine forest until they could disappear together into the crowds and smoke. They had gotten drunk on the wine, fed each other fireflakes, laughed at everyone but mostly at themselves. 

So much had changed since then. 

Tonight, Jeongyeon is somewhere in the Northern Sea, going to peace talks with the Water Tribe. Nayeon hopes she’s keeping warm. 

Tonight, Momo and Sana are on Ember Island. Nayeon hopes they are drinking and dancing on the beach.

And Nayeon also, maybe selfishly, hopes they’re also thinking of her, and hoping for her happiness. Even after everything she’s done. 

A parade of paper dragons wind through the pagodas below. 

With a huff, Nayeon turns away and stalks through the palace. Two guards flank her — probably the only two on duty tonight. 

“You can go down to the festival,” she says, not bothering to turn around. 

“We shouldn’t,” they reply immediately. They can’t disguise the hope in their voices.

“Take it as an order then.” 

They rush through thank you’s, then run off. 

That’s good. Nayeon needs to be alone for this. 

She veers to the kitchen and gathers fresh fruits and vegetables from the baskets on the counter. Tucking them into her robe, she pulls the hood over her head and leaves the lonely palace. 

Jeongyeon shivers, her jaw trembling almost uncontrollably as another gust of arctic air slices through her coat. She pulls her maroon scarf up tighter around her throat, lifting the soft fabric up to cover her lips. 

Ahead of her, the Water Tribe guide seems unperturbed, still shouting back happily, pointing to fountains and other icy landmarks in the capital city. It is night here, though the sun is still shining. The guide had explained, during one of the rare times that Jeongyeon was actually listening, that they spend almost half the year in total daylight, and the other in total darkness. It’s almost more jarring than the temperature. 

Jeongyeon wants nothing more than to light a fire between her hands, but that might be taken as a sign of aggression. As a diplomat she’s found the most luck in not reminding anyone that she is indeed a firebender. The golden crest adorning her collar is enough to worry even the most open-minded foreign politicians. 

The royal palace is impressive, a bluish building rising in the center of the city. It’s simple, but Jeongyeon has always admired waterbenders for that particular trait. Though she probably shouldn’t say that when she meets the chief. 

Unfortunately, being inside its walls offers no extra warmth. If anything, it feels colder. Maybe she’s just nervous. 

While the guide sits, now chattering about the architecture, Jeongyeon paces. She reviews her talking points. From what she’s heard of the chief, he appreciates brevity. Which is what all royals say, while simultaneously expecting an excessive amount of flattery. 

When the ice doors open, Jeongyeon isn’t ready. But she never is. 

The throne room, like the rest of the palace, is deceptively simple. Water runs through two twin rivers down the length of the hall. The chief, a dark-haired man with piercing, inquisitive eyes, sits on a throne covered in white furs. 

Jeongyeon bows deeply while the chief simply inclines his head. 

Unlike the Fire Nation palace, the royal prison is still stocked with guards. 

Unlike the Fire Nation palace, the royal prison guards are less likely to gossip. 

They nod curtly as Nayeon enters. She likes that they never bother to speak to her, never bother to ask. Maybe it’s because they already know. 

Tzuyu’s cell is on one of the higher floors, with a thin rectangular window set between the dark stones. A little slip of moonlight pushes through, over the blankets and straw and the figure seated in the corner of the cell. 

Nayeon doesn’t greet her, simply sits and begins to unfold the fruits from her robe. She offers a peach first, and Tzuyu hunches forward to take it. 

“It’s the last night of the festival,” Nayeon starts, tone conversational. 

Tzuyu just nods, biting into the peach with an eagerness that opens the pool of shame in Nayeon’s heart. 

She begins peeling an orange, watching the other woman carefully. Her tunic is clean, which is good. Her hair has grown long and unruly in the months of being held here. But it was better than Boiling Rock. That’s what Nayeon tells herself. Better to keep Tzuyu here than that hellhole. 

“Did you go,” Tzuyu finally asks. Her voice is rough from misuse. Another pool of guilt opens up in Nayeon’s heart. It’s been a week since her last visit. 

“No. It’s been busy, at the palace. And no one is around anyway. Jeongyeon and Jihyo probably arrived at the Northern Water Tribe capital today. If they're on schedule.”

Tzuyu reaches out for the orange, mumbling a small thank you. Her eyes are almost yellow, a detail Nayeon can’t help but find as jarring as the tattoo of a maroon mask plastered across Tzuyu's face. 

“I doubt it will go well,” Nayeon admits, leaning against the stone wall. “The Northerners are stubborn, and we don’t have any bargaining chips.” She’s talked to her advisors about these concerns, but they always harp on about the power of the Fire Nation, the respect they deserve, without ever bothering to think about how to earn it. 

Recently, the Fire Nation’s mining colonies around the Northern Air Temple have been raided by Water Tribe pirates — though sometimes the reports are of fleets too large for random, criminal activity. The Tribe might have a hand in it. 

“All Jeongyeon can do really is ask for a favor, and if that doesn’t work, threaten them in the politest way possible,” Nayeon continues. “But I can’t start another war.” 

“She’ll do well,” Tzuyu murmurs. “And so will you.” 

Nayeon’s pool of shame opens into an ocean. The Fire Lord’s assassination ended the war and allowed peace to be met with the rebels. They had never found the real killer. But the public needed a sacrificial lamb. Tzuyu, a young Yuyan archer, was the perfect scapegoat. 

Nayeon still hates the council for it. The singular consolation is that Tzuyu doesn’t seem angry, or at least, doesn’t show it. She’s oddly peaceful for a young girl, especially one trained to kill. 

“I can wait,” Tzuyu offers, large eyes suddenly sympathetic. “Worry about those people in the mining towns, not me.” 

“None of this is fair,” Nayeon sighs. She can’t help saying it, though it’s the complaint of a child, not a Fire Lord. 

“This is the world we’re in. Now all we have to do is change it.” 

Nayeon smiles. "How'd you get so wise?"

"I have a lot of time to think," Tzuyu smiles back. 

Nayeon fights against her ocean of shame, of guilt. 

It's useless.

She loses. 

In the moonlit cell, Nayeon is the one whose eyes well with tears, as Tzuyu reaches through the bars to take her hand and whisper assurances. 

Sana wakes panting, her nightmare fraying as she gulps at salt-stained air. 

Her heart only calms when she sees that Momo is still beside her, sprawled out, peaceful. 

Sana leans over to press a kiss to Momo’s bare shoulder. Not to wake her. Just to feel that she’s there, to know it more fully. 

The moon is unfairly bright, but Sana knows Momo likes to keep the windows and curtains open. It’s an extravagance, the same as sleeping naked. During the war they had only ever rested in brief interludes, wearing half their armor, waiting for an order or an alarm or the smell of smoke. 

But now they are safe. Sana repeats this in her head, as a mantra. They are safe. 

Momo shifts, mumbling into her pillow, and Sana retreats. There’s no reason to wake her. It’s the same nightmare as always, the same echoes. 

Outside, fireworks still flicker in the sky. They almost sound like thunder. That was why Sana asked to sleep in Momo’s bed tonight. That’s what she told Momo, anyway, as she followed the other girl to her room and leaned against the doorway, waiting for the answer that had always been yes.

Sana turns over to look at the curtains filling with breeze. She pulls the covers more tightly around herself, wondering if it’s still early enough in the night to bother attempting to sleep. But to get up, to start the day, she’d have to leave the warmth of the bed, the comfort of being close to Momo, and so she closes her eyes and tries to calm herself enough to slip back into unconsciousness. 

It’s unfair how hard it is, sometimes, to let yourself rest. 

Her mind wanders, through the halls of the beach house, out across the sea, to the capital where their skies must also be thundering with fireworks. She thinks of the palace, where she and Momo used to spend the summers off from school, the gardens, the turtleducks. Nayeon’s laughter. The throne room.

Sana tenses again. 

The throne room.

Sana tries to veer away, but she is already dreaming. 

The throne room, Nayeon kneeling on the floor, sobbing. 

Sana doesn’t want to say what she says next, but the nightmare is such a perfect memory. The smell of burning flesh. The darkness of the room, heavy with smoke. 

“You have to lie,” she says. She can never stop herself. 

In the dream, as always, Nayeon lifts her face, cheeks red, eyes wild. “You don’t — I did it for Momo,” she stammers. 

"Then you have to lie,” Sana says.

Nayeon’s head snaps up at the harshness in Sana’s tone. But then a sob wracks the heir’s body. 

It is always in a hail of arrows that Sana finally wakes, the flesh of the dream torn away to reveal the bedroom. 

Momo still sleeps beside her, head stuffed beneath a pillow to block out the sunlight. As is Sana’s routine, she leans over to kiss Momo’s shoulder. 

The other girl is a better sleeper. She never cries or screams or wakes to the phantom fires that blaze in Sana’s nightmares. Sana is secretly thankful, even though it would be nice to be held and comforted when she wakes. But she wouldn’t wish any more pain on Momo. 

Careful not to disturb her, Sana lifts herself from the bed and goes to stand by the window. Outside, whitecaps breathe over the beach. Sometimes Sana wishes she was a waterbender instead. It must be therapeutic to connect yourself to such a peaceful element, to psychically feel the gentleness of the waves wash through you. Instead, her palms itch with fire and anger. 

She needs to burn something. 

In the courtyard, Sana makes a messy nest of the letters Nayeon has sent over the last two months. All unanswered. All unopened. Between her fingers, she lets the heat grow into a flame, then watches as the fire eats away at the paper, the words, her own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Jeongyeon makes a deal with the chief and we meet Mina.
> 
> Nayeon and Tzuyu have a heart to heart.
> 
> Sana reflects on more of the past.
> 
> Momo might even wake up!


	2. uselessness & punishment

Jihyo paces on the deck of her ship, impatience unquelled by each quick step. The arctic air is harsh, but the discomfort is worth not being cooped up in her cabin. She hates waiting like a housewife for the door to open and Jeongyeon to collapse into her arms. 

Jeongyeon has been gone for two days, but Jihyo knows better than to storm the Water Tribe palace. Diplomacy, allegedly, takes time. Jihyo wishes she could have accompanied her, but the optics aren’t good when a Fire Nation admiral walks into another country’s capital. Any sign of aggression, any reminder of war would throw off the whole operation. 

So she waits. 

The impatience is really just there to mask the harder feeling; nervousness. 

Jihyo’s head spins with the tales of bloodbenders, as silly and maybe even offensive as it might be. They were stories she heard around the campfires during the war. But maybe the children in the Water Tribe have heard stories about firebenders who bring an entire forest down to ash, and maybe these children are nervous when they see Jeongyeon walk by, and Jihyo doesn’t hope for that. She does hope for peace. 

So she waits. 

A smattering of soldiers are on the deck too, gathered together, playing pai sho. When she first started her pacing, they had routinely glanced up at her, unsure if orders were about to be issued. Now they didn’t even lift their eyes as she passed. 

It was odd. When the war started, all she had done was wish for it to end. But now, in peacetime, it was hard to know if she was useful.

One of the soldiers calls out, asking if she wants to join.

“No, I’m good,” she calls back. But then she thinks better of it. 

Jeongyeon lowers her chopsticks, once again, to applaud as the choir finishes their song. 

Manners have never exactly been her strong suit, but the watchful eye of the chief keeps her on edge. It’s been two days of ceremonies, each more exhausting than the next. 

Jeongyeon knows she should appreciate the pleasantries, enjoy the five-course feasts, but the chief has been avoiding any conversations about her reason for being there.

Tonight, luckily enough, she’s been seated across from the chief. 

When dessert is served and the choir begins their next song, Jeongyeon decides to strike. 

“This is all so beautiful,” she begins. It’s not actually a lie, which makes it a little easier. “It makes me wish that more people in the Fire Nation could experience the Water Tribe’s culture.” 

The chief nods curtly. “Likewise. I’ve heard travelers’ tales about the festivals of the Fire Nation, the music and dancing. Wouldn’t it be a better world if we could share that instead of war?” 

“It would. And maybe even better if we could share technology.” Jeongyeon takes a bite of her dessert. “For example, the accomplishments we’ve had with metalworking have been extraordinary. That’s why the mining settlements are so important.” 

The chief glances around the table. Looking for a interruption, Jeongyeon assumes. When he can’t find one, he simply mumbles in agreement before taking a sip of wine. 

“The Fire Lord is greatly concerned with the attacks,” Jeongyeon continues. 

“I do not control all of my citizens.” There’s a bite in his voice now, an implication that Jeongyeon, diplomat that she is, decides to ignore. “I’m sure the Fire Lord can understand that I especially cannot be expected to control what criminals choose to do on Fire Nation land.” 

Jeongyeon nods in understanding. He isn’t wrong. If the pirates are indeed unsanctioned by the Water Tribe, he has a point. She decides on another route of argument.

“To be honest, I can sympathize with the pirates.”

The chief’s eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly. Jeongyeon has noticed that there is a hesitancy about the man. Whereas someone else might display shock, eyebrows shooting up, the chief is instinctually careful. 

“I do,” she continues. “In these raids, I’m sure the goal isn’t to hurt other people. It’s just to gain access to coal. In a place like this, there’s always a need for something to burn, something to keep people warm.” 

“I assume this is going somewhere.” The chief side-eyes the advisor beside him. 

“We could easily export the coal from the mining settlement. Then the pirates would go out of business, and you could tax the resources.” 

“That makes sense,” he allows, “but only if the pirates are from the Water Tribe. Have you investigated the Earth Kingdom? Or even delinquents in your own country?” 

“I have,” Jeongyeon says, matching his strict tone. She allows herself this slip-up because she knows she’s right. Jihyo had stationed patrols on the coast, and the pirates were definitely based here. “If nothing is done, we’ll have to take military action. Good thing they’re just criminals, eh?” 

The chief musters a tight smile. 

Jeongyeon decides to leave it there for tonight. She finishes her dessert as he watches, then excuses herself. 

As she lowers herself into bed, she brings the maroon scarf Jihyo knitted up to her lips. One little comfort in a cold place. 

Nayeon pretends to sleep as the girl in her bed rises to get dressed and see herself out. 

As she listens to the tell-tale stumbles, the shuffling of fabric, the door unlatching and closing with little hesitation, she admires the girl’s professionalism. Though, sometimes, she does miss how different it was with Momo and Sana. Most nights they would stay, sleeping beside each other as Nayeon finally drifted off to the comforting sound of other people breathing in perfect sync. 

Nayeon had never been under any delusions about her relationship with the two. When she met them she had immediately identified their bond. At first she had thought they were like her and Jeongyeon, but when she saw them kissing in the palace garden one night, it had opened her up to wanting something she didn’t even know existed.

Instead of seeking it for herself, she just basked in their affection for each other. Some nights, they would include her. Some nights, she would just watch. And, she knows, most nights, they were alone together, as they were meant to be. 

After the coronation, their relationship realigned to how it had been before. As Fire Lord her power now outsized them in an uncomfortable way, and the love she had for them soothed into simple friendship once again. 

That was what she missed most, now. She missed Jeongyeon and Jihyo, always so loud at dinner. It was only for a week, she reminded herself. Soon both would be back, and maybe Sana would answer her letters in that time. 

She hadn’t written to Momo in a few weeks. Most of the replies she got were short descriptions of what she had done that day, which usually amounted to eating and practicing. Nayeon worried that her own lengthy paragraphs trying to recreate Jeongyeon and Jihyo’s latest argument were either boring or, worse, exclusionary. 

Nayeon grits her teeth, sitting up in bed and fishing around for her robe. It was late, but that was fine. It wasn’t like Tzuyu had anything else to do. 

Tzuyu wakes instantly when Nayeon marches into her cell, eyes wild in the first seconds of new consciousness. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nayeon says, plopping down on the hard stone floor.

“I was,” Tzuyu mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. 

“I’ll sing you a lullaby,” Nayeon offers, smiling even wider when Tzuyu groans and burrows deeper into the thin mattress. 

“It’s useless now.” 

“I’m actually impressed with how quickly you snapped up.” 

“Training,” Tzuyu sighs, sitting up from the bed. Her yellow eyes are like a wolf’s, bright despite the darkness of the cell. 

Nayeon rises to light the torch on the wall. “What was it like?” 

Tzuyu squints. Usually they only engage in small talk, and always about Nayeon. For a second the Fire Lord worries that Tzuyu won’t want to be the center of attention, but then she speaks. 

“It was hard. We’re meant to be hunters, but the best hunters have to survive the same way prey does. So we have to train ourselves to be light sleepers, to notice everything.”

“Did you like it?” 

“I liked killing.” 

Nayeon’s impulse is to laugh. She’s always liked this about Tzuyu, the straightforwardness. It’s almost never meant to be funny, but that’s why it is. 

“I didn’t kill the Fire Lord,” The girl continues, unphased, “but I killed other people. I do deserve to be here.” 

“No one should be punished for someone else’s crimes,” Nayeon protests. “Especially if that someone else is still free.”

“Maybe I would feel differently,” Tzuyu hums, “if you weren’t punishing yourself.”

It’s just before lunchtime when a guard comes to fetch Jeongyeon, bringing her back to the Water Tribe’s throne room.

It’s the same as the first night, with the singular addition of a girl beside the throne. Maybe it’s the quaint chair she sits on, maybe it’s the distance, but she seems impossibly small next to the chief. 

Jeongyeon bows. Both the chief and the girl beside him incline their heads, almost perfectly in sync. 

“Last night, you proposed a vague deal based on some unfortunate assumptions about the character of the Water Tribe,” the chief begins. Dread rises like smoke in Jeongyeon’s stomach. “But it seems the Fire Nation has forgotten the promises it made before.” 

The girl shifts in her seat. 

The chief waits expectantly. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeongyeon says, keeping her voice as even as possible. “But I’m not sure what you mean.”

The chief huffs. “Your previous Fire Lord offered me access to the mining cities in exchange for my daughter.” 

Jeongyeon twists her scarf in her hands. She could demand to see the deal in writing, but she knows that would just be to buy time. She had heard rumors, before the Fire Lord died, that he had made a ridiculous treaty with the Northern Water Tribe. This must be it. 

“With the change in power, naturally some agreements may lapse,” Jeongyeon begins. It’s such a non-answer, but she’s still trying to find the right escape route, the right strand to pull and collapse this stupid, ugly deal. A grown man marrying a girl who must be thirty years his junior. It makes her stomach churn. “Regrettably, with the Fire Lord’s death, a pending marriage like that will cease to—”

“She wasn’t going to marry the dead one,” the chief interrupts. “She was promised to Fire Lord Nayeon.” 

“It doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Jeongyeon huffs, for what must be the fifth time. She can’t get herself past the disbelief. 

But the documents are all spread out on Jihyo’s desk, the admiral dealing with the shock much better — or, at least, more quietly. She sits there, reading and rereading each one, while Jeongyeon is collapsed on her bed. 

The worst paper to look at is the contract. It outlines a fairly standard marriage agreement, but heartbreakingly both Nayeon and Mina signed in clumsy letters. It was clear they were both young children when they put their names to it, agreeing to something they had no way to understand. 

“You’re sure Nayeon doesn’t remember this?” 

“Of course not.” 

Jihyo’s eyebrows raise skeptically at the harsh tone, and Jeongyeon sighs heavily. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just been shitty. All of this is really shitty.” 

Jihyo’s eyes soften and she rises to join Jeongyeon on the bed. 

“I’m sorry,” the admiral murmurs. “How was the scarf?”

“Good,” Jeongyeon whispers, matching the quiet. “How was the pai sho?” 

“For all you know, I could have won.” 

“Everyone knows you cheat.” 

Jihyo pokes Jeongyeon’s ribs just before dropping a quick kiss to her cheek. “You haven’t said you missed me yet.” 

“You haven’t said you missed me.” 

“I guess that’s good enough,” Jihyo laughs. 

The ship groans, metal against metal against water. Jeongyeon tenses — she never liked the sea. It’s odd, risky, to give yourself over to something you can’t control for so long, to be so helpless. 

“That’s normal, you know,” Jihyo assures. “We’re safe.” 

“I wonder how Mina feels,” Jeongyeon sighs. “I should probably go talk to her, but right now —”

“Sort it out in your own head first,” Jihyo advises gently. In the silence, both of their minds drift through the dark, harsh corners of the ship to where the Water Nation girl must be sitting alone in her cabin.

Nayeon will hate this. All Jeongyeon can hope for is that Nayeon won’t confuse that hatred of circumstance with anger at Mina. 

“This might be a good thing,” Jihyo tries, watching Jeongyeon carefully. “It’s an impressive peace deal. And it gives us a bargaining chip.”

“By ‘bargaining chip’ you mean a person?” Jeongyeon bristles, lifting herself away from Jihyo. “You know, I got into politics to prevent things like this.” 

Jihyo reaches out to take Jeongyeon’s hand. Most of their disagreements are like this. Jeongyeon hates believes fundamentally that people should work together and share and desire peace above everything else. Jihyo, with all her time in the military, is less generous. 

“You prevented a war,” Jihyo offers. 

“Please remind Nayeon of that,” Jeongyeon sighs, letting herself fall back on the covers. 

Sana loves watching Momo bend. Usually.

Because usually it looked like dancing. Not punishment.

Momo had been on the terrace for hours. The sun sank behind her. Sana remained though, of course. Half the time she watched the moon rise, half the time she watched Momo’s brow furrow and then relax as she thought her way through each mock attack.

“Momoring,” Sana calls. “It’s late.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Yes you are,” Sana frowns, standing. In the dark, Momo’s shoulders tense. Sana hates that. How Momo still assumes she might get hurt. It’s instinct, but it’s heartbreaking.

“Come to bed,” Sana tries again, voice softer. 

“Spar with me,” Momo counters, feinting a playful kick at Sana’s shins.

“No.” Sana chooses to call the bluff, sinking to her knees and catching Momo’s legs in an awkward hug. “Wanna take care of you.”

Momo shivers. She always shivers. Even after all these years.

“I’ve been waiting all day.” Sana looks up, resting her cheek against Momo’s thigh. “Needed you all day.”

Momo shifts so she, too, can lower herself. She’s never liked looking down at anyone. When they are equals again, at eye level, Momo hides her face in Sana’s neck. She whispers unintelligibly against the younger girl’s skin.

“Wanna go to bed?” She rubs soothing circles on Momo’s back. There’s a possibility the girl is too tired.

“You can —” Momo swallows. “Here. If you want.”

No, Sana thinks. It’s supposed to be different now. They used to steal all their scraps of intimacy, running off into the woods to push each other against the trees, kissing in dark rooms they weren’t supposed to be in. Sana’s parents had wanted her to find another noble, a marriage that would strengthen their family’s position, but she had made all her promises to Momo during the war. 

Now, on the bed they share most nights, they have peeled away their clothes. Momo lays down while Sana hovers over her, dark eyes flicking between her face and the ceiling. Still shy, Sana thinks fondly.

Sana presses her fingertips gently to the yellowing bruise on Momo’s knee. “You know I don’t like this.”

She’s barely scolding, but Momo’s breath hitches. 

Sana settles in closer, tracing Momo’s collarbones with a light touch. “We should talk first.” 

It’s always been easier for Sana to parse Momo’s emotions, Momo’s worries, rather than her own. 

“I guess I just feel…” Momo sighs, turning her face to hide. “Useless.” Her eyes magnet back to Sana’s, to check for offense. 

“Do you want to go back?” Sana asks so easily not because she’s okay with it, but because she’s rehearsed this conversation before. It was stupid to think they could just hide away on the island forever. 

“No,” Momo denies. Then, shrinking into the covers, “Kind of. Don’t you miss it too?” 

Sana knows Momo’s memories of the palace are very different from her own. To Momo it was an almost magical place, but Sana was always suspicious. Her mother had once told her that they should give the royals whatever they asked for, but nothing else. As in, pay your taxes, go to war when you’re asked, but don’t make the mistake of loving them.

Sana and Momo had made that mistake. It had been impossible not to. Nayeon was a force of nature, but also, tragically, a human. 

They had made the decision to love her together. And then, after the war, to leave her together. 

“It’s not just Nayeon,” Momo continues, anticipating Sana’s thoughts. “But Jeongyeon and Jihyo too. The letters aren’t the same as being there, and you’re so good at strategy I’m sure they could use —”

“You don’t have to convince me, Momo.” Sana says it in the hopes that it will become true. “If you want to go, we’ll go.” 

Momo reaches up, smoothing Sana’s hair. “I know it’s complicated for you, so I don’t want you to do it just for me. I could go by myself. You know I’ll come back.”

“I know.” Sana offers her a tired smile. “But there are things I should probably face. We can write to Nayeon in the morning.” 

Momo turns to press a kiss to Sana’s arm, then laughs lightly. “Did I ruin the mood?” 

“Silly,” Sana chides, glad to slip back into playfulness. She leans closer, craving skin on skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for baring with me! i know there's a lot of exposition, but i don't want to come off as a fire nation apologist lul. there will also just be less placement jumps once we get the gang all back together. 
> 
> next time:
> 
> Jeongyeon tries to make it work.
> 
> Mina finally gets to talk to other people.
> 
> Jihyo cheats at pai sho. 
> 
> Sana and Momo deal with public transportation.


	3. two ships

Mina feels every wave as if they’re breaking over her body. They aren’t, of course. The sea is far beneath her, the ship like a great steel cliff above the raging water. But every wave passed is a wave further from home, and so she feels the waves and says goodbye to each of them.

“There’s water in the Fire Nation, you know,” the woman beside her says. The diplomat. Jeongyeon. There’s a laugh in her voice and Mina can’t help but reciprocate with a smile. Not because she thinks it’s funny but because she appreciates an attempt to make her feel better. 

“The bay is beautiful,” Jeongyeon continues, more earnest. “And there are rivers that run through the forests near the palace.” 

Mina isn’t sure what to say, so she settles on “That’s nice.” She expects Jeongyeon to drift away, to go below deck and shield herself from the arctic winds, but the diplomat just leans against the railing to look straight down into the wild of the water.

“Did you fight in the war,” Mina asks, half because she doesn’t want the silence to turn awkward, half because she’s honestly curious.

“Oh no,” Jeongyeon laughs again. “Though you could say I ended it.” 

Mina turns away from the sea to look at her companion. Jeongyeon is tall with choppy, jet black hair. She’s bundled up in a heavy coat, with a scarf whipping in the wind. There’s something inherently intimidating about her, but her eyes are warm and playful.

“You can’t lie to me,” Mina says, lips twisting into a smirk. “I’ll make a fool of myself at court.”

“I did have some help,” Jeongyeon admits with another smile. “But if you’re looking for the mastermind of the peace deal with the rebels, I’ll take credit.”

“And what about this peace deal?” 

Jeongyeon’s lips tighten into a frown. “It's not — well. I didn't make it. Your opinion matters more than mine.” 

“I’d still like to know your's,” Mina prys. 

“I think it’s barbaric.” Jeongyeon’s tone is harsh, but her eyes are dark with something softer. Maybe pity. Mina isn’t sure she likes it. 

“Perhaps.” Mina turns back to watch the whitecaps breathe up to the hull of the ship. Maybe Nayeon will be appalled by this too. By her. 

Jeongyeon shivers, wrapping her coat around herself even tighter. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

Beneath them, the ocean is dark and deep and unconcerned. 

Sana takes a deep breath of the clear, salty air. She’ll miss this. The capital stinks of brimstone. It’s a perfect example of hubris, to build a city in the shadow of a temperamental volcano. 

All day she and Momo had been traveling, from one ferry to the next. It’s a nice reminder of how big the world is, to see everyone bonded in wanting to be somewhere else. 

“It looks the same,” Momo says, looking toward the coast. There’s a dusting of lights in the half-light of dusk.

From this distance, the palace shines like ruby set against the dark velvet of the mountains. 

“It feels the same.”

“Is that bad?” Momo reaches out, trailing her fingers over Sana’s clenched fist. 

A strong breeze comes to lift the ocean and the ferry with it. The passengers, all strangers, knock elbows against each other. 

“No,” Sana says, willing herself to relax. “Not yet.”

Mina only leaves the deck when Jeongyeon comes to tell her it’s time for dinner. 

“We’ll eat with the admiral,” the diplomat explains as they pass by the rowdy mess hall. “If that’s okay.” 

Jihyo isn’t exactly what Mina was expecting, but at this point she thinks maybe she should be expecting surprises. Whatever that means.

Jihyo is short, tan, with dark hair stopping just short of her shoulders. Her handshake is painful. The skin of her arms is lined with scars and burns. She laughs easily. After they had bowed to each other, Jeongyeon already elbow-deep in a rotisserie chicken, Jihyo had presented her with a maroon scarf.

“I actually had yours finished earlier,” Jihyo explains as Mina loops it around her neck, muttering a thank you. “But Jeongyeon stole it, so I had to make another.”

Jeongyeon leans out to smack the admiral’s arm. Jihyo dodges easily.

“It’ll be useless,” Jihyo continues. “From here south the weather should be warm. But I also thought you’d probably need a bit of red for your wardrobe.” 

Mina flushes, unsure if she should keep the scarf on — it seems polite to — or take it off now that the admiral has ruled it obsolete. There’s something intimidating about Jihyo, something sharp in her wide smile and bright eyes. Mina feels the need to obey her. 

“How long until we’re home,” Jeongyeon interrupts, thankfully. Her voice is mocking, whining. Jihyo rolls her eyes. 

“Two days. Though we’ll have to dock somewhere soon to send word to Nayeon about the, ah, situation.” 

The familiarity the two have with their leader is interesting. Mina’s father had always characterized the people of the Fire Nation as fearful of their monarchs, but both Jihyo and Jeongyeon seem comfortable with, maybe even fond, of her. 

“Unfortunately the closest port is at Boiling Rock,” Jihyo continues, settling down to begin her own meal. Mina follows suit. 

“I’ve never been,”Mina mutters. 

Both women laugh, maybe in surprise. 

Mina will take it. She smiles back. 

“Nayeon should shut it down,” Jeongyeon says through a mouthful of chicken. “I’ve told her a hundred times —” 

“But where else would we send all the Nation’s most dangerous kumquat thieves,” Jihyo deadpans.

They go on like this through dinner. It almost sounds as if they’re arguing, voices loud and harsh, but really they just keep emphatically agreeing with each other. It’s nice. It’s a distraction. Mina’s cheeks ache with the effort of suppressing smiles as she chews. 

The carriage is always the worst part, but Nayeon had sent one to the docks to pick them up, and Sana isn’t planning to begin this entire visit with any sort of slight. 

Momo is curled up beside her, head resting on Sana’s lap. Every time they hit another bump, she jolts awake, then smiles lazily, and rests again. 

As uncomfortable as it is, Sana wishes for the carriage to keep going. Every time the pace slows, her nerves fray with electric anxieties. Maybe, if she wishes again, and again, the carriage will never stop. Maybe they’ll ride past the palace, back down the roads they came, and when the doors open they’ll be home on Ember Island. 

But, of course, when the doors open and a guard rushes to help them unpack, the air smells of ash instead of salt. 

“Welcome back,” the guard says, smiling brightly. Sana knows maybe she is meant to remember him but she doesn’t. 

He takes their suitcases, assuring them that they’ll be in their old room and that Nayeon is waiting in the dining hall. 

There’s a skip in Momo’s step as they make their way through familiar halls. Sana tries to match her pace and mood, giggling when Momo pauses at the gardens to greet the turtleducks. Maybe if she pretends she can be excited too. 

“It feels the same,” Momo grins, looking over her shoulder. “Like this is the center of the earth.” 

“It is,” Sana mutters, reaching to lace their fingers together. 

When they come to the dining hall doors, Momo is the one to knock. 

From inside, a shout. “I swear, this time —”

“It’s Momo,” Momo chirps, opening the door like it’s her own. 

Sana’s eyes find Nayeon first, seated at the head of an empty table. She seems irritated for a split second and then, like magic, soft and young. She is looking at Momo. 

Mina wakes to the sound of shouting. On instinct, she readies herself, but there is no water to bend in the metal cabin. The lilt of the sea below her is uncomfortably far away.

There’s a quick rap at her door. 

She slips out of bed, draws her white robe tighter around herself, and opens the door. Jeongyeon is standing there, a breakfast tray in her hands. 

“We’re landing. Or docking. Whatever they call it.” She holds out the tray, though it’s only half full. “I might have nabbed a couple grapes.” 

“That’s fine,” Mina says, moving so that Jeongyeon can enter. “I don’t usually have an appetite this early in the morning.” 

“Weird,” Jeongyeon says, helping herself to a thin slice of meat. “You probably won’t have a chance to eat for a while. We’ve run out of rations. Allegedly.”

“Are we at Boiling Rock now?” 

Jeongyeon nods as she chews. 

Mina tries to think of the ocean. How deep and dark and perfect it is. “Will we restock here?” 

“Probably not. Unless you want prison food. Plus, we’re maybe half a day away from the capital, and it would be a waste of resources. That’s word-for-word what Jihyo told me before she marched off.” Jeongyeon sighs heavily, like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat?” 

Mina shakes her head and settles back on her bed. 

“Are you nervous?” 

There’s something about Jeongyeon. An invasiveness that, against all reason, never bothers Mina. She can’t help but smile. Who knew a firebender could be so — well, maybe warm isn’t the right word. Of course they would be warm. Mina can feel that in the blood, sure and steady, flowing through Jeongyeon’s veins. 

“A little,” Mina settles on saying, instead of ‘I hope Nayeon is like you.’ 

“Then you should eat.” 

Sana wakes in a dark, barely familiar room. 

Rubbing away the sleep in her eyes, she sees Momo spread out on the bed, then Nayeon curled up on the armchair across from her. There are half-empty glasses of wine spread out over the floor, one spilled on the carpet. Thin wisps of smoke breathe up from the fireplace. 

Her muscles ache, and as she stretches, her groggy mind registers that she’s wearing the same clothes she had been last night. Nayeon stirs and Sana can’t help but grin, leaning forward to tap the other girl’s knee.

“Nayeonnie,” she croons. “You still do that?”

Nayeon squints at her. “Do what?” Her voice is rough. 

“Pretend to be asleep when there’s a girl in your bed.” 

Nayeon groans, bringing the sleeve of her robe up to cover her face. “Don’t be a pervert so early in the morning.”

It really does feel the same. 

All last night they had stayed up, talking and laughing and drinking until their throats were sore. 

“She won’t be up for a while,” Sana says when both their eyes drift to Momo. 

Nayeon gets up to stretch, groaning when she takes a peek at the clock. “I have a meeting in an hour,” she admits, huffily crouching to help Sana with cleaning up the stray glasses and bottles. 

“You’ll have time to get ready,” Sana soothes. If this was before, before everything, she would have swept Nayeon into a kiss. But now they just stand, ten feet apart, the past like a locked door between them. 

“Well.” Nayeon bites at her lip. “I could take a bath and change, but I — we should talk.” She glances at the bed. “But not here.” 

It’s pitch black in the throne room. It could almost be any other room. Sana pretends that it is. 

Nayeon doesn’t go up to sit on her throne. Instead she puts an arm around Sana’s shoulders and together they breathe. 

“I never told you I was sorry,” Nayeon says, voice so small in the cavernous room. 

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” 

The harshness doesn’t cause Nayeon to shrink away. If anything, her grip tightens. 

“What I did that day… I never got to explain it to you.” 

“Does it really matter now?”

Nayeon finally bristles. Her arm falls and she sighs in annoyance. “Just back there you were acting like you used to. And now I’m trying to talk and you’re just shutting me out like last time.” 

“Back there I thought you were going to leave the past where it belongs.” Sana takes a step back. Further from where the body was. Further from where Nayeon stands now. 

Nayeon laughs. It’s a bitter, ugly sound. “You got to run and I didn’t, so excuse me if I want some sort of closure.” 

“You got to be Fire Lord. That seems like a pretty good closure to me.” 

The embers lined in front of the throne begin to sweat with red light, but Sana doesn’t care. She keeps going. 

“You’re just like the rest of them,” she hisses. “You murder and you ravage and you take and you take and you take. Every Fire Lord in the history of this stupid fucking country has been a liar —”

“A liar?” Nayeon laughs again. There are now small, blood red flames at the head of the room. “In my memory of that night, you were the one who said I should lie. You were the one who found that archer’s arrow and watched as I pushed it into his skull. But to be honest, Sana, I’m not even sure it was his skull. His body was almost ash by then. It may have been his heart, or his stomach, or his hand for all that matters.” 

“If you get to kill someone to protect Momo, then I can lie for her.”

“You lied for yourself,” Nayeon seethes. “Momo is the only thing that made your family relevant in a war we were already losing. A war which I, by the way, ended.”

Sana lets an angry smile twist across her lips. “You’re proud you lost control?” 

“You would have done the same thing if you heard what he said that night. You would have burned this whole fucking city to the ground.” 

“But I wouldn’t get to be Fire Lord after.”

The flames are now as tall as they are, yellow and white at their cores. 

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Nayeon crouches, holding her head in her hands. 

Sana sees a version of herself that goes to her, wraps Nayeon up in her arms, rocks her back and forth until the fire is gone. 

Instead she stands, jaw tight. 

“You never wanted me to love her with you,” Nayeon whispers, just loud enough for Sana to catch it. “I thought — I thought you’d be happy. I thought you both would stay with me, if I — I’ve told myself it wasn’t selfish, but you’re right. It was. I wanted to be Fire Lord, but —” A suppressed sob finally wracks her body. “I didn’t want to be alone.” 

Strings of sympathy begin to constrict around Sana’s heart. 

“I could never love her like you do, or love you like she does,” Nayeon continues, fighting the trembling in her voice. “But does that mean — do I fucking deserve this?” Her voice strengthens with the curse, flames roaring around her. 

“You don’t,” Sana whispers. 

Maybe Nayeon doesn’t hear. Maybe she ignores her. “I’ve been talking to the archer. She’s in the tower prison. And guess what? She isn’t even angry at us. She says she deserves it, for all the people she killed in the war. So —” She sniffles. “It’s kind of nice. To find someone who is angry at me. I’m tired of being the only one.” 

“You don’t deserve this,” Sana says, voice stronger now. “I still have dreams about that night. But, when I wake up, I’m not thinking about what you did or what you said. Just the choices I made. We were — we just wanted to survive.” 

Nayeon turns, a smile on her tear-tracked face. “Just when I tell you to hate me, you stop.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Sana mumbles. “I couldn’t.”

Nayeon dries her eyes. The flames fall. 

“And Momo,” Sana continues, suddenly determined to offer whatever she has left to the girl in front of her, “Momo still loves you.” 

“You two are like halves of a heart.” Nayeon smiles. “But not mine. I think maybe the reason I wanted you both was that — that wholeness.” 

“Are you rejecting us?” It’s so easy to slip back into playfulness. 

Nayeon’s eyes bloom with appreciation. At the joke. At the hint of forgiveness. “It’s going to sound really corny, but I think I need to find what’s supposed to be mine. Not what’s mine because I was born into the right family, or because you and Momo offered it to me, or because I —” A wry smile twists her face. “—killed a man in a throne room. But what’s mine because I earned it.” 

Admiration floods Sana’s heart as Nayeon rises, nose and cheeks still red, all the make-up from last night now wiped away. 

“I’m going to start,” Nayeon continues, walking through the invisible, now unlocked door between them, “by giving that archer a new life. And then —” 

There’s a sharp knock. 

“One minute,” Nayeon shouts, sparks flaring from her hands. “And then —”

The door is thrown open. Stark sunlight invades the room.

“Forgive me,” a guard pants, falling to his knees. “We’ve just received an urgent message from Admiral Jihyo.” He holds out a scroll, the seal already broken. 

“What have I said about reading my letters,” Nayeon huffs, snatching the paper from his hands. “It’s a complete breach of —” 

Sana knows what fear looks like in Nayeon’s eyes. She knows the exact temperature of brown for joy and relief and simple gentleness, knows each degree of nervousness and rage. But whatever this is, she has no name for it.

Mina spends the afternoon enjoying the distractions that Jihyo and Jeongyeon offer. 

First they bicker over which of their friends is most likely an undercover Dai Li agent — Jihyo argues that it’s herself, Jeongyeon is convinced it's a girl named Dahyun. 

They watch a school of dolphins that race against the ship, passing Jihyo’s telescope between them until Jeongyeon gets seasick. 

Jihyo pulls out a pai sho board. When Mina admits she knows how to play, the admiral is delighted.

“Jeongyeon won’t play with me,” she explains, hurrying to set up the tiles.

“Because you cheat.” The other girl sulks at the edge of the cabin. 

Jihyo’s eyes shine. “Slander.” 

The admiral wins the first game. 

Mina demands a rematch.

“I like you,” Jihyo grins ferociously, sweeping the board to reset. 

This time, Mina ignores the tiles. She simply focuses on the admiral’s heartbeat, the speed of the blood as it rushes the path of her body. It takes almost half the game to figure out Jihyo’s reactions — a smart move makes her more nervous than a rash one, and she barely reacts to Mina’s counters. 

When Mina lays the final tile, a white lotus, Jeongyeon cackles just as Jihyo curses under her breath. 

“Best out of three.” 

After seven more games, Jihyo hangs her head in absolute defeat. 

“I feel pathetic,” Jihyo pouts after a firm handshake with Mina. Jeongyeon takes pity and comes to rub at Jihyo’s shoulders. Mina feels the tide of Jihyo’s blood change, now calm. It sends a pang through the waterbender, as sharp as ice. 

“Mina, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Jihyo begins, the smile on her face almost apologetic, “Well, it might be silly. I used to hear these stories about bloodbending. Is that a real thing?” 

“No.” 

Relief washes over the admiral’s face. “I thought so. Just something to scare kids, right?” 

“Well, it must be possible.” Jeongyeon rests her chin on the crown of Jihyo’s head. “Hypothetically.”

“It isn’t,” Mina says. “Blood is too pressurized to bend.” 

“Ah. That makes sense.” 

Mina chews her lip. Two pairs of eyes are suddenly too much. 

“Now you get a question,” Jeongyeon offers. Such a diplomat. 

“What is Nayeon like?” 

“Vicious and wonderful.”

Both women look impossibly fond, even as twin smirks pull at their lips. 

It should be heartwarming. 

It opens a cavern of loneliness in Mina instead. Is there anyone in the place she left behind that would smile at the memory of her? What words would they use to describe her, and would they be true ones? 

“Now I get a question. How long until we’re home?” 

Jihyo’s eyes have not wavered away from Mina’s. “By dusk.”

“Right on time for dinner,” Jeongyeon chirps, satisfied. 

Nervousness rushes like lightning through Mina’s chest. Dusk can only be a couple hours away. 

It reminds her of learning to swim in the arctic waters. They had simply lined the children up at the edge of ice, then pushed them down into the freezing sea. All the nervousness and shock and unfairness had miraculously turned into pleasure and awe when each child had managed to make their way back up to the surface, breathing with nothing but appreciation for maybe the first time in their lives. 

But this is different. Mina will be thrust into a fire instead of the element she can control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i hope i did sana and nayeon's dynamic some justice/clarity. 
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Everyone goes to a very awkward dinner party.
> 
> Except Tzuyu. Tzuyu is still in prison.


	4. at the center of the earth

By the time the capital city is in view, Mina has debated mutiny five times. It would be easy enough. When she tunes out the ocean she can feel the tide of blood through every body on the ship. She could take them all, the sailors and the admiral and Jeongyeon too, and go home.

Of course she doesn’t. Of course she sits in her cabin, folding and refolding her clothes as she knows the palace drifts closer and closer, Nayeon in it. Nayeon, who must have just read the letter from Jihyo. Nayeon, sitting in a throne room made of flames instead of ice. 

But everything else will be the same as it was before. Mina knows, in that throne room, she’ll serve the same purpose she did at home. Just to be an ornament. 

When they leave the ship, when they board the carriage, when a guard opens the door and Mina sees the palace in the thin orange light of dusk, she fights the dread low in her heart and musters a polite smile for Jihyo and Jeongyeon. Both of the firebenders watch her carefully as they explain little bits of trivia and Fire Nation history, though neither seem all that interested in what they themselves are saying. 

“It’s beautiful,” Mina interrupts. It is. Imposing, of course, a demonstration of wealth and legacy, but still beautiful. The pillars flow with gold, simulating flames — but not the way fire is destructive. The way fire is always new. It’s almost hopeful.

“It’s okay,” Jeongyeon says, following Jihyo up the palace steps. “A bit gaudy. But that’s Nayeon.”

Finally. A detail about Nayeon. Something to add to the list. So far all she has is the ‘vicious/wonderful’ paradox Jeongyeon had offered earlier. 

Nayeon is gaudy. Nayeon likes the palace, or at least this part. And Mina, honestly, likes this part too.

Two guards greet them at the entrance with deep bows.

“I’ll give the tour,” Jeongyeon says, brushing them off as she pushes through like it’s her own house. 

The three women walk through a series of grand rooms filled with murals of flames and volcanoes. Jeongyeon pauses to explain a specific painting that, according to her, depicts two dragons mating. In it, a blue beast and a red one intertwine in the clouds. 

“It’s well-done,” Mina comments politely.

“You’re ruining my appetite,” Jihyo whines, bumping the tall woman’s shoulder playfully.

With that reminder, Jeongyeon cuts the tour short and leads them in a different direction. Mina tries to outpace the nervousness, rushing to keep up with the gait of her two hungry guides. 

Just as the hall comes to an end, there’s a screech. 

Mina stiffens, calling out for water that isn’t there. 

But then Jihyo is laughing and two women jog up to them, both smiling widely. Jeongyeon puts the slightly shorter of the two, a woman with black hair, in a headlock. Her companion immediately grabs Jeongyeon’s sides, tickling her ferociously. Both are pretty. Which one is vicious? Which is wonderful and gaudy? Mina’s eyes flick between them, trying to deduce who Nayeon is. 

All four begin to talk loudly, a chorus of greetings and jokes come so quick Mina can’t keep track of what’s happening. 

Jeongyeon, though, snaps out of the reunion first and moves aside, opening a space for Mina to step forward. 

“Ah,” Jihyo says, voice suddenly firm and formal. “This is Mina, the princess from the Northern Water Tribe.”

Mina bows and the two women mirror her. 

“I’m Sana.” Sana smiles. Her eyes are warm and gentle. “And this is Momo.”

Momo dips her head again politely, retreating slightly. 

“She’s the greatest firebender of our generation,” Jeongyeon drawls, “though you wouldn’t know it.”

Sana slaps the diplomat’s arm lightly. “And what about me, Jeongyeonnie?”

“Mina will figure it out,” Jihyo says, still commanding. “But dinner? We haven’t eaten all day.” 

“Poor things,” Sana pouts, turning to lead them through the doors. 

It’s all too fast. Mina wants to reach out, snatch the girl’s sleeve, and plead for them to wait. Just one more minute. Just —

She sees Nayeon. She knows it’s her by the ornate robes, by her position at the head of an empty table, by the way her face falls as their eyes finally connect in this ocean of blood and noise. 

When the meal begins, everyone splits off into pairs.

Momo and Jeongyeon are at the far edge of the table trading anecdotes. Mina’s impression had been that Momo was shy, but she matches the volume of Jeongyeon’s voice and laughs almost as loud. Maybe they’re closest with each other.

Jihyo sits beside Nayeon. They mutter lowly to each other, heads bowed together, expressions neutral. 

Sana floats into the seat beside Mina, a friendly but apologetic smile on her face. 

“This all must be overwhelming,” she offers.

“No, it’s —” Mina looks down at the unfamiliar food in front of her. “Yes. It is.” 

“That’s pretty spicy,” Sana says, pointing with her chopsticks at the reddish mush on Mina’s plate. “So is that. It’s a bit of a stereotype, but almost all of our food is spicy.” 

“That’s fine,” Mina says, taking a bite and regretting it immediately. The heat clouds her vision, throat constricting around nothing. 

Sana takes pity, filling a cup with water and offering it to Mina. 

“My father,” Mina says when the burning soothes enough, “used to have our cooks make Fire Nation dishes for dinner so I could get used to it. But there was never anything like that.” 

Sana laughs melodically. “You can demand Nayeonnie serve Water Tribe dishes, then.” 

There’s a silence.

Momo and Jeongyeon are staring, twin expressions of concern. Jihyo pushes a hand through her hair. Sana bites her lip, like it’s a little punishment for herself.

“I could,” Nayeon says. It’s the first time she’s spoken directly to Mina. There’s something electric about her eyes. 

“It’s fine,” Mina says quickly. “I’m sure I’ll adjust.” 

Nayeon breaks away, turning back to Jihyo. 

The separate conversations resume, tension releasing with each new breath and laugh and mumble. 

“That’s a stereotype too,” Sana has leaned back, a dreamy look in her eye. “The adaptable waterbender. See, I know we all have our elements that we were born into, but everyone has a different nature. For example, I think I should have been a waterbender.”

Mina isn’t sure what to say. Luckily Sana doesn’t seem to expect anything.

“And Jihyo,” Sana says, looking around the room, “would make sense as an earthbender, don’t you think? Jeongyeonnie, too. Maybe that’s why they’re so good together.” 

Mina gulps more water. 

“Now,” Sana’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “Nayeonnie could only ever be a firebender.”

Nayeonnie. A pet name. Mina tries to take interest in her food again. 

“What about, uh, Momo?” 

A slow smile spreads over Sana’s face. She really is pretty. “Momo is a little bit of everything, I think. Sometimes the earth, in spring, when — you know, it’s so generous. But then there’s the air, when she can talk about anything for hours. Water because...well, it’s soothing, don’t you think? It’s funny, because I see fire in her the least. But it’s there.” 

“You’ve got your own personal Avatar,” Jeongyeon calls across the table. Beside her, Momo is blushing furiously. 

Sana just sticks out her tongue, then softens as Jeongyeon turns to tease Momo more. 

When she’s sure they aren’t being listened to anymore, Mina tries her best to be casual as she mutters, “So you two are…” 

Sana nods, her mouth full of food.

“And Jeongyeon and Jihyo are…”

“You couldn’t tell?” Sana peals with laughter. Luckily no one looks up. “That was always one of the big arguments, trying to figure out what was going on with those two. I could tell, of course, but Momo was adamant they were just friends. Honestly, Nayeonie was heartbroken when she found out.” 

Mina’s fingers tighten around her chopsticks. 

“She thought Jeongyeon would have told her. They’ve been best friends since — well, I’m sure Jeongyeon told you.” 

“I’m honestly clueless,” Mina says, curiosity ruling over unease. 

“They were basically attached at birth. Noble families, you know, all in this elite little club. But Jeongyeon was a real prankster in school. Nayeonnie always got her out of trouble, though. All she had to say is ‘my uncle’ and the headmaster would start apologizing. What were we talking about? Oh, yes, Jihyo. So Nayeonnie was heartbroken when Jeongyeon kept that secret from her, but she and Jihyo are such private people it made sense.”

“So you all went to school together?”

“Everyone except Jihyo. We met her during the war. Back then she was a captain.” 

“Ah.” Mina isn’t sure what to ask next, but she wants to keep the conversation going. It feels good to be the center of Sana’s easy, friendly attention. 

“Momo and I went to the academy a little later. Actually —do you want to know the story of how we met?”

Mina nods. 

“It’s a little — well, I’ll just tell you. Do you know what the Fire Lily Festival is? It actually just ended about a week ago, this whole big thing with fireworks and food and paper dragons. Anyways, my father was the governor, so we were visiting all the villages for the celebrations. And on the last day we were at this little place in the mountains. We attended the feast and then the fireworks started. As a kid I was really scared of loud noises. I thought it was what war would sound like. But, you know, war is…” Sana’s eyes change, like she can see through the walls of the dining room, past the murals and the silly statues, into the blackness of a night that might not ever end. Mina feels the need to pull her back, but she doesn’t know how. 

“Anyways, I was scared, so I went off into the woods to hide.” Sana takes a breath. She can change so quickly, Mina thinks. “And then I see a girl. She’s hiding too, even more scared than I am. I’m looking at her and I just feel this sudden responsibility to make her feel safe. So I bring my hand up,” Sana sets her cup down, bringing her hand in front of her. There’s a silver ring around her middle finger. “And I do this.” 

Sana bends little giggles of fire around her pinky. They spin up around her palm and wrist, as wide as the flicker of a candle, threading along her veins. 

“It was the first time I saw someone firebending without anger,” Momo says from across the table. Her voice is small but the look in her eyes is heavy. 

“And then this girl in the woods raises her hand too,” Sana continues, “With this great, white flame in it, spilling down like water. And she puts her hand to her own skin, this burning thing, but the girl doesn’t burn at all.”

“And that was the first time someone wasn’t afraid of me.” 

Sana and Momo share a smile. Mina feels as if something private is happening. That she doesn’t belong here, hasn’t earned this happy silence. She glances around the room. Both Jihyo and Jeongyeon are looking down at their food, like they sense it too. 

When Mina looks at Nayeon, she sees that the Fire Lord is smiling too. 

“You’re really shitting on all of us,” Jeongyeon drawls, breaking whatever precious thing had been lighting the room. Mina is thankful for it. “Jihyo and I just thought, hey, everyone else here sucks, so we got together. And the other two are tied up in an arranged marriage.” 

“Jeongyeon.” Jihyo’s voice is severe. Usually it comes with a smirk or an affectionate eyeroll, but her posture is rigid. 

The diplomat looks down, shoulders slumped. 

“Anyways,” Sana tries, desperate to save the mood, “Momo came to —” 

“I think dinner is over,” the admiral interrupts. 

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Sana, too, shrinks. A streak of dislike for Jihyo strains through Mina’s chest. 

When Nayeon rises from her seat, the other firebenders stand mechanically. The Fire Lord pauses at Mina’s seat, offering a stiff bow. Mina, still sitting, awkwardly dips her head down. 

When she raises it again, Nayeon is gone. 

Jeongyeon offers to take Mina to her room, and so they set back out into the dark, lonely palace. The diplomat keeps true to playing tour guide. She points out fountains and the messenger hawk station, but her voice is quieter. 

Before Jeongyeon leaves her at the door, she shuffles nervously. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for, uh, dinner.”

“It’s fine.”

The other woman hangs her head.

“Really, it’s fine. It’s true.” Mina shifts. “It seemed to bother Jihyo more than anyone.”

“It bothered Nayeon more than anyone,” Jeongyeon corrects. It’s harsh, but Mina appreciates that about Jeongyeon. At least someone here doesn’t want to avoid the truth. 

“Is she — will she send me back?” 

“No.” The response is immediate. 

“But she wants to,” Mina mutters. 

“I guess that’s the lucky thing about arranged marriages,” Jeongyeon says. It’s odd how quickly she can snap back to sly. “It doesn’t matter what anyone wants.” 

She isn’t right. But Mina allows her that much, says goodnight, and retreats into the impersonal bedroom that will be hers. 

“We just thought everyone else sucked so we settled for each other.”

“A hello would have been nice,” Jeongyeon slumps against the tall dresser in the room she shares with Jihyo. The admiral is already in her pajamas, tucked under the covers with a mess of papers in her lap.

With no response, Jeongyeon sighs and begins to undress. She kicks off her shoes, then sheds her tunic. But her fingers are heavy with exhaustion, struggling with the tie on her belt.

“Come here,” Jihyo murmurs gently, reaching out. 

Jeongyeon lays flat on the bed as Jihyo eases her from the rest of her clothes. 

“I’m sorry.” They say it at the same time. 

“I was harsh.” Jihyo looks down at her hands, pulling at her own fingers. “It’s an excuse to say that I’m stressed. We all are. There’s no reason for me to take it out on you, or anyone else for that matter. So the plan.” And this is what Jeongyeon treasures the most about Jihyo. She always has a plan. She always keeps to it. In the relentless clutter of a place like the palace, in a war, in little domestic squabbles, she is sturdy and thoughtful. “I’ll do better.” 

“I’ll be funnier,” Jeongyeon says, placing a hand over her heart. It gets the soft laugh she was hoping for. “Everyone was just so tense tonight, I thought I could — well, I didn’t read the room that well.” 

“You didn’t.” Jihyo’s eyes are soft. “But you’re just trying to take care of all of them.”

“We both are.” 

“Besides, I think the most major slip-up was Sana’s.” This is Jeongyeon’s favorite part of being entrenched in all the useless dramatics of the palace. After a dinner, just laying in bed with Jihyo and reviewing all the ridiculous, silly things that happened. “I mean, _Nayeonnie_.”

“She called me Jeongyeonnie a few times,” the diplomat says. Diplomatically, of course. And then, less so, “Are you jealous?”

“Almost.” Jihyo puts the papers on the bedside table. Jeongyeon automatically moves to rest her head in their place. “Mina is perceptive. I’m sure she caught on to it.”

“I doubt Mina’s first guess will be ‘The Fire Lord ordered Nayeon to sleep with them to keep the most powerful firebender in the world on his side’.” Jeongyeon knows that’s the harshest version of the truth. The least charitable. The least nuanced. But it’s what Nayeon is the most afraid of, so that is what Jeongyeon will protect her from. She just has to remember. 

“It doesn’t have to be accurate to hurt.” Jihyo yawns, shifting deeper into the bed. 

“Look at you,” Jeongyeon pokes. “Worried about a stranger’s feelings.” 

“She’s about to be the Fire Lady,” Jihyo defends. “And any disrespect we show toward the peace deal could blow out of proportion. You know how traditional those Water Tribe people are.” 

“Good thing Nayeon is famous for her self-control.” 

Jihyo groans. “You really aren’t funny.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nayeon shouts at the door, but of course it opens anyways. Her heart falls when she sees it’s Momo, eyes wide and timid. 

Momo steps in, careful to take up as little space as possible. Nayeon hates that. But that’s what anger gets her. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you were — well, anyone else.” 

“If this isn’t a good time, I can —”

“It’s fine.” Nayeon sits down awkwardly, trying not to bruise the peaches stuffed in her coat. “Did Sana, uh, tell you about our conversation yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Momo says, seating herself in the opposite armchair. “She said you told her she could.”

Nayeon just nods. 

“I’m not here about that. I wanted to ask how you’re feeling, but if you don’t want to talk it’s okay.” 

“No, no, I appreciate it.” Nayeon reaches out to smooth the fabric of Momo’s pants over her knee. “But there’s a lot. How do I feel about dinner? How do I feel about...her?” 

Momo shrugs. “Whatever you want.” 

“Honestly, all I can think about is the archer. Sana told you about that, right?”

Momo nods.

“I’m actually going to see her tonight, that’s why I’m wearing this monstrosity.” Nayeon plucks at the coat. “I bring her fruit when I can.”

“Sana said you were going to break her out.” 

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Nayeon smirks. Momo’s eyes brighten. “A break out implies it’s something illegal, but as the Fire Lord I’m immune. I was talking to Jihyo about it earlier. She doesn’t agree but, again, I’m the Fire Lord.” 

“What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to send her to Kyoshi Island. I already sent word to Dahyun. If any advisors find out, I’ll just say it’s a banishment. I’m sending Jihyo to escort her.” 

“Will she miss the wedding?” Momo looks sorry as soon as she’s said it.

“The wedding will just be a bunch of fluff. That’s probably the thing she’s the least worried about.” 

Momo looks down at her sandals and shifts in her seat. “Could I, uh. Could I go?” 

“Don’t be so nervous with me,” Nayeon laughs, batting at Momo’s legs playfully. “Of course you can go.” 

Momo sighs happily, taking one of Nayeon’s hands and kissing her knuckles. It’s brief, but warm. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be at the wedding,” Momo says hurriedly, though she looks down again. One thing Nayeon had always found comfortable about Momo as opposed to Sana was how clear her tells were. Sana could disguise anything. But Momo was always transparent. Not because she couldn’t help it, but because she didn’t want to. 

“I understand if you don’t,” Nayeon offers. “This is an awkward situation. For all of us.”

“It’s not just that. The island is nice, but sometimes I feel like the world is happening somewhere else and I’m not part of it anymore.”

Nayeon wants to say, good. She wants to say, that’s why I let you have the island. So the world couldn’t take you away from Sana, even though it took you away from me. This stupid, cruel world and the people in it. Shouldn’t that be enough? To run away with someone who is always gentle, like Sana, and who will never risk you, like I did? 

“There won’t be much action,” she says instead. “And you’ll have to deal with Jihyo slandering me.”

Momo shines. “What is the archer like?” 

“Quiet. A little freaky, to be honest. She likes peaches the best, so you two might be a match. Her name is Tzuyu.”

“Tzuyu,” Momo repeats, trying the word out. 

“If you want to go with me, I’m sure she wouldn’t be too cranky.” People always like Momo. She starts out shy, then unfolds. 

“Sana’s waiting for me,” Momo says, apologetic. But not entirely. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Nayeon musters a smile. She hopes it’s warm. She hopes it’s perfect. “I’ll walk with you.” 

They take one of the hidden routes. The nostalgia makes her heart race. She had dashed through these tunnels, threaded like capillaries through the heart of the palace, as a kid with Jeongyeon just half a step ahead. And then, with Sana and Momo. They would always pause to press each other against the stone walls and let the flames they held in their hands fade away. 

“You should show Mina these,” Momo says from up ahead. 

“Maybe.” 

“She’s pretty.” 

“So I should show her the tunnels?” Nayeon tries to tease. It’s bitter in her mouth. 

“I mean, it’s good that she’s pretty, right?” Maybe this is Momo trying to say ‘Move on’. ‘Stop loving me.’ Nayeon can’t tell when she can’t see her face. 

“She’s suspiciously pretty.” It’s true. There’s something pristine about the Water Tribe girl, like a clear gem set against the rough of a mountain. But if you look long enough there’s always something. “What does Sana think?” 

Sana has always been a good judge of character, Nayeon thinks. People made the mistake of thinking her friendliness was just kind or even naive, but Sana used her charm to catalogue reactions. During the war it usually only took one conversation for her to identify a spy or perfectly predict the Fire Lord’s next mood swing. 

“Sana needs more evidence.” 

“That’s fair.” 

Nayeon had made observations of her own. The stiffness in Mina’s posture as Sana chatted beside her. The suppressed reactions to the unfamiliar food. Her devastation at any awkwardness during the conversation. All polite, all to be expected from a noble girl in enemy territory. Well, maybe not enemies. Nayeon isn’t sure what to call it.

They come out of the tunnel in the garden that borders the windows of Sana and Momo’s room. 

“Take this,” Nayeon says, before Momo can leave. She pulls a peach from her pocket.

“That’s for Tzuyu.” 

“I have more,” Nayeon assures, opening her coat to reveal the lumps tucked inside. 

Satisfied, Momo takes the peach. Nayeon can’t help but lean forward to press a kiss to her cheek. But then — she shouldn’t. She lets her head fall to Momo’s shoulder. She expects rigidness, to be pushed away, but Momo’s arms loop around her instantly. 

They rock together, drifting in the night air. 

“Sana’s waiting,” Nayeon whispers. “You should — we can’t —” 

“We weren’t,” Momo says, detaching herself. Maybe it’s true for her. 

When the door closes behind Momo, Nayeon squeezes harshly at the peach in her pocket. The juice weeps past her fingers, the flesh so soft and so there and —

Something moves in the dark. A figure just beyond the fountain. 

“Hello?” Nayeon shouts. It’s her fucking palace. She hates all these sneaky guards, acting like they —

“I’m sorry,” the person stammers. 

Mina. She’s wearing a night dress now, white silk flowing in the moonlight. It might be pretty. 

“Ah, no, I’m sorry,” Nayeon says, moving so that they don’t have to raise their voices. She wipes the remains of the peach off her hand. “Are you lost?” 

“A little.” There’s an apologetic smile. “I was trying to find the messenger hawks.” 

“If you go that way —” Nayeon gestures behind her, “—and then take a left at the second phoenix statue, not the silver one but — well, maybe I could show you?” 

She hates herself for the uncertainty, but Mina brushes it off with a nod. 

“If I may ask.” Which of course she can ask. It’s her fucking palace. “What do you need a hawk for?” 

“A message to my father.” 

They fall into line, walking together through the halls. 

“Just to tell him I got here safely,” Mina adds quietly, a minute late. 

Nayeon feels the need to say something. “That’s good.” It’s not enough. “I’m sorry if I came off as, ah, distant. At dinner.” 

“You did,” Mina says. She turns her face so she can offer a kind smile. Nayeon doesn’t want it. 

“I just heard about all this yesterday.” 

“I know.” It sounds like an apology. 

They pass the silver phoenix statue. 

“Will he come to the wedding?” Nayeon figures she should get used to talking about it, since it seems like everyone else will want to. 

“He doesn’t like to travel.”

“I see.” She doesn’t know what to do to get more than a single sentence out of the girl. “Do you like to?”

“I don’t know.” 

Nayeon decides to let the silence hang there. Let it punish Mina. 

Not that any of this is the girl’s fault, she knows that logically. But where else is she supposed to put her anger? On Momo? On Sana and Jeongyeon and Jihyo? They’ve earned immunity. 

“I’m sorry I’m boring.” There’s no bite in the waterbender’s words. If anything, there’s defeat. 

“I’m sure you’re not,” Nayeon huffs. It’s so easy to suddenly be on this stranger’s side, and then abandon her again. Nayeon doesn’t like it. “We’re probably just not talking about something you care about.” 

Luckily, they’ve arrived at the messenger hawks. Nayeon watches as the girl slips her letter into the canister, and then as the bird lifts into the sky. 

“Can you show me to my room? I’m not sure I remember.” 

Nayeon decides, as they walk back, that if the girl won’t talk she’ll at least make an effort. 

“I grew up here,” she starts. “It felt so big when I was a kid. Actually, Jeongyeon says it seems small now that we’re older but. It’s so empty. That makes a place feel bigger, I think.” 

Mina just nods politely.

“There are tunnels,” Nayeon presses on. “They’re all through the palace. Supposedly they’re for hiding in case of an attack, but I just used them to mess around.” 

Silence.

Whatever. 

But then Mina speaks. “The Water Tribe palace is made of ice. Sometimes I would bend extra, secret rooms. Or staircases that went nowhere. Or doors where they shouldn’t be.”

Mina takes in another breath. 

“I would hide for days.” A wry, almost ancient sort of smile is on her face. “No one would find me, even though I was right there, in a maze I made beneath the floor. They always thought I was running away into the city, so my father would lock my door and put guards out on the perimeter. He would get so angry, but I couldn’t help but laugh at him. Which made him angrier but it is funny, isn’t it?”

Nayeon stops walking. They’ve reached Mina’s bedroom door. 

“People are just water,” Mina continues, unphased. “There’s other stuff, but mostly water. How could they not find me? If someone had paused for just a moment they could have felt me in the walls.”

“Did you want them to find you?” Nayeon’s voice is barely a whisper. She doesn’t want to break anything. 

Mina smiles. It’s serene. “Yes. That’s why I stayed.” 

“But they never did?” 

Mina’s face falls. “No.” 

Nayeon has rarely wished to be different than she is. Yes, she wishes she had done certain things differently, been kinder, been smarter. But, at the core, she has always thought she was born into the right country, the right family, the right element. She has never minded the destructiveness of fire. But now, with a strength that shivers through her muscles, she wishes she could know water like Mina does. Wishes she could tell the girl that she’ll be able to find her, to see her everywhere. But she can't. So she says goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every chapter gets longer lul 
> 
> thank you for your endurance! 
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Jeongyeon tries her hand at wedding planning.
> 
> Momo, Jihyo, and Tzuyu set sail.


	5. the rabbit in the moon [M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some mature sexual content this time. please don't just read those parts lul
> 
> there's also some pretty mild animal violence

The first time Momo hurt someone, she was too young to understand it. Too young to even firebend, at three years old, but there were burn marks licking up her sister’s arms and the smoke rose guiltily from Momo’s fingertips. 

Her sister had wailed for hours and — this is the story she was told — Momo just stared blankly. The village was divided on whether she was a psychopath or an idiot, but the general consensus was the same. She was some sort of monster. 

For the next few years, Momo would only bend in secret. The flames would unfurl from her palms, which she would then press against her wrists, trying to feel the pain her sister had. But Momo couldn’t. 

Sometimes the older children would try to goad her into bending. They had all started their training and would force bursts from their hands and feet just to see her flinch and hide. She always did. Her sister would chase the others off and then scold Momo, saying she shouldn’t make it so easy to scare her. 

It wasn’t the flames that Momo was afraid of, but the rage that seemed to drive all the firebending she had seen. If she could bend so much earlier than everyone else, did that mean that deep down, maybe instinctively, she was angrier?

“Come back to me,” Sana says, so Momo does. She leaves the village and opens her eyes in the bedroom where Sana hovers over her, hair messy, eyes calm. 

“Jihyo just came by.” Sana sits up, lifting her arms to stretch. The room is still dark. Only the faintest signals of sun brush against the wide windows. “She said everything will be ready in about an hour.” 

Momo groans. The warmth of the bed, the sight of Sana’s bare, unblemished back is enough to make her regret ever saying she would go. 

Sana turns, a knowing smile on her face. “Don’t say you’ve changed your mind.” 

“You want me to leave?” Momo tries to pout but her voice is still too rough with sleep. 

“No.” There are some things Sana will never tease about. “But I’ll be happy when you come back.” 

It’s something she used to say before every battle.

They have so many rituals, spoken and not. 

Here’s another one; Sana, melting into the sheets, and Momo rising to lean over her. She traces Sana’s hairline, smoothing little wisps of hair back away from her face. When Sana closes her eyes, Momo ghosts her thumb over each eyelid. Then a gentle line down the bridge of Sana’s nose, before she finally rests her fingertips on Sana’s lips. 

It strikes Momo, like it does sometimes on the bad days, that she could hurt Sana. She wouldn’t, of course. That’s what she tells herself. But the potential is there. What is in her veins is molten and sometimes the pressure of holding it back gets to be so much more than —

Sana opens her mouth, expectant. Momo slips two fingers into the waiting warmth. 

It doesn’t last long. Sana likes to talk, and while she is soft for a moment, soon enough she sits up. 

“You aren’t too sore from last night?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Momo whispers. She’s not strong enough for anything louder than that. 

Sana’s hands run up and down Momo’s stomach, a hint of nails swirling against her skin. It’s an experiment, a question. The whine that shivers from Momo’s throat is the answer. 

Sana’s eyes go wicked and Momo tries to relax all her muscles. The shoulder Sana grazes with her teeth. The abdominals scratched red. The abductors in her hips as Sana pulls her underwear down leisurely, but not as some sort of tease. Sana is always reverent, always sweet. Even when Momo needs her to be something else.

“So pretty,” Sana murmurs, her thumb sliding easily down Momo’s slit. “So ready.”

Momo squirms, arching her hips up. She knows Sana likes to stare. She knows to pretend she doesn’t like it.

“You’ll be still,” Sana whispers, breath humid in her ear. “You want to be good, don’t you?” 

Momo’s mouth is impossibly dry. Like in the summer, when a forest can burn so easily, when the sun is —

Sana pushes two fingers inside. It’s abrupt, but that’s the point. If there’s any pain or surprise, it’s quickly overtaken by a rip of pleasure. 

Sana busies herself with stroking up and down the column of Momo’s throat, the tip of her nose tracing the older girl’s jawline. She works herself impossibly deeper and deeper. Her head cocks to the side, fascinated, somehow, her eyes fixed between Momo’s legs. It would be unbearably humiliating if Momo didn’t want to be humiliated right now. The soft moans become irrepressible. 

There’s a stripe across Momo’s stomach, a perfect river of fire. 

Everything is burning.

The village is burning, and the people scream, and —

“Do you want me to stop?” Sana’s voice is gentle, her grip relaxing on Momo’s throat.

“No, no.” Some sort of low level panic sets in her stomach. She should be able to do this, at least. To lay back and let someone who loves her touch her. “But I might cry.” 

Sana’s eyes widen a fraction, but then she nods in understanding. 

She bends down to nuzzle against Momo’s clit with parted lips. Momo pulls her legs up to her chest to make it easier. That’s all she wants. To be easy for Sana to love. 

When the moan comes, Momo wishes Sana’s hand was on her neck to stop it. It feels good to hold it there, between her lungs and her mouth. To have someone else who can keep what’s inside tucked away, to protect them both.

“So, so pretty,” Sana says when her mouth leaves Momo for a breath. 

She goes slow, focusing on filling her with her fingers and her tongue in a dizzying tandem. Momo starts to rock her hips as best she can. It can’t look graceful, but Sana keeps murmuring encouragement and compliments. Momo tries to make the sob sound like a moan. 

“It’s too much,” Momo chokes out when she comes. 

Sana pulls out carefully. She shifts so they can lay beside each other, fitting a thigh between Momo’s legs.

It’s different than being full, but better somehow, too. The perfect pressure on her clit. Sana’s familiar weight. Her protection. Her voice now closer, sweeter, as she pets at Momo’s lips with her shining fingers. When Momo takes them in her mouth, Sana keens in delight.

“Don’t you taste so sweet, Momoring?” 

Momo bucks up against Sana’s thigh, harsher and faster than she wanted, but Sana moans in affirmation.

“So eager,” she teases, nipping at an earlobe. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

It takes another minute of sliding against Sana’s thigh, of praises in her ear.

“I love you.”

It’s so silly to say something like that, especially now. But it pits Momo’s stomach right before she’s filled back up, all her muscles relaxing in a collapse of pleasure. 

It’s so silly. Momo laughs with relief.

“Say it back,” Sana whines as she wraps Momo in a tight hug. “Otherwise I’ll cry too.” 

Jeongyeon towers over Ba Sing Se, holding a bolt of bright purple fabric. 

“Perfect,” Nayeon smirks. “It’s hideous.” 

The Fire Lord is sitting in the Southern Sea part of the mural that covers the center of the war room. Mina wonders if it’s purposefully ironic, to have their wedding planning held in a place usually reserved for military strategy. It probably is, since Jeongyeon called the meeting.

“It’s color theory,” the diplomat defends. “Blend red and blue and what do you get?” 

“A monstrosity,” Nayeon cackles. 

It’s been like this for the last hour. It seems to Mina that Nayeon and Jeongyeon’s main mode of communication is attempting to annoy each other, and they are both masterful at it. 

“What do you think?”

Mina shifts in her place. Nayeon is right, it is ugly, but Jeongyeon is pleading. 

“I think it’s fine.” 

“She hates it,” Nayeon says, triumphant. 

“Well, you need to pick a fabric for the dresses soon or this wedding won’t happen.” Jeongyeon casts the fabric down to the floor, then bends down to find the next sample. 

Nayeon instantly rejects orange silk and an ornate lace, then a frankly daring piece of cloth that depicts a flame shooting into an iceberg. 

“Do you like _anything_ ,” Jeongyeon complains as she defeatedly lifts a dark green fabric that blooms with embroidered white flowers.

“That one is pretty,” Mina says even though Nayeon was addressed. Nayeon is always the one they address.

“It’s fine.” Nayeon stiffens, as if struck. “I mean, yes. It’s nice. Let’s go with that one.” 

“Do you not like it?” Mina asks cautiously. “My opinion doesn’t really —”

“Don’t say it doesn’t matter.” Nayeon’s eyes flash with heat. “I mean, the fabric doesn’t matter. I’d get married in rags if I had to.”

Something like that would be romantic in any other context. It seems that Nayeon realizes the mistake because she looks down at her hands. 

“But your opinion does matter.”

Mina glances at Jeongyeon, whose face is frozen in an almost comic shock. 

“Okay,” Mina says, because someone has to say something. “Then I like it.” 

They reject the idea of writing their own vows even though Jeongyeon says it’s a good opportunity for some peaceful propaganda. Nayeon decides on Water Tribe cuisine for the day’s meals. They rule music unnecessary for the reception, though the military choir will perform at the ceremony. 

“Well, that’s about it,” Jeongyeon says happily. “Right on time for lunch.” 

“Um.” Mina’s fists clench. Both firebenders startle, as if they forgot she was there. “What about the, ah, bedding ceremony?” 

“Oh, well.” Jeongyeon begins to stammer incoherently as she rifles through her papers. “Yes. Of course. But that seems like. A private conversation?” She looks at Nayeon hopefully, who nods her dismissal. 

The second the door is shut, Mina lifts her eyes to Nayeon’s. The Fire Lord is pale, hunched, like a cornered animal. 

“No. Right? No.” 

Mina wants water. She wants to feel something, anything other than her heart battering against her rib cage. This is something her father had talked about often as a natural and binding part of their contract. If she and Nayeon don’t consummate their marriage there can be an annulment, which would render the entire treaty useless. 

“The contract says we have to.” 

“We have to,” Nayeon repeats slowly. There's malice in her eyes. “Just because my uncle and your father got us to sign a piece of paper when we weren’t even old enough to bend.” 

“Legally —”

“Legally, this marriage shouldn’t even happen. At this point we should hold the ceremony at Boiling Rock and kiss through the bars between our cells.”

Kiss. 

Mina looks at Nayeon’s lips. Pink, full. Maybe soft? They must be soft. Mina brings a hand up to her own mouth, pressing gently on her own lips. 

Would it really be that terrible? To share a bed for a night? To be warmed by someone? 

“Everybody,” Nayeon keeps ranting, “seems so enraptured with this supposedly healing image of a glorified hostage completing the terms of a contract, as if it’ll eradicate war or nationalism or —”

“Are you the hostage or am I?” 

Nayeon’s eyes widen. Maybe she’s not used to being interrupted. 

“It’s true that I signed as a child,” Mina says. “And I know that this is abrupt for you. But I’m not here because of my father or your uncle, I’m here because this might be the best chance at peace we will ever have. Even in the darkest version of this story, we’re just two strangers. But we can still save so many people.” 

It’s what her father wants her to say. She has to try and believe it. 

“When I said fuck the treaty,” Nayeon sighs, “I didn’t mean fuck the treaty. I meant fuck the bedding ceremony. It’s archaic.” 

Mina nods. She isn’t wrong. 

“I mean, don’t you want more than that?” Nayeon’s voice is back to it’s rant-pitch. “Don’t you want passion?”

Passion. 

Mina closes her eyes to feel the currents of blood that roar through Nayeon’s body, fleeing from her heart as quickly as they return. 

“We won’t do it,” Nayeon continues. “I’ll honor the rest of the treaty. I hope you will too. We’ll have each other’s word, but to me that’s worth more than a signature.”

“Okay,” Mina says, instead of ‘please give me at least this, just once.’ 

A small, tawny rabbit trots through the mess of palmettos. 

Tzuyu spins the knife in her hand. Her wrists still ache from the heavy metal cuffs, but she’s ready. All those years in the cell had left her with a hunger. 

The rabbit twitches, raising it’s head to search for a fox or an eagle hawk’s shadow against the moon. 

Tzuyu is as rigid as the tree she hides in.

The knife whistles through the air, cutting the world where the rabbit lives from the world where it doesn’t. 

The thrill of the archer is never in the close-up of killing. 

It’s the pleasure of patience, not blood. 

Tzuyu’s new wardens applaud when she walks back to their campfire, the animal pinched between her fingers. 

As the skinned rabbit roasts on a stick, one of them — the admiral, if Tzuyu remembers correctly, Jihyo — offers a thick green paste. 

“For your arms,” she explains. 

Tzuyu eyes the cuffs that lay in the sand as she smoothes the salve on her bruises. 

They had let the anchor fall just a few hours ago, as the sun began to set. The other woman — Momo — had been seasick and miserable, so the admiral had made the judgment call to camp here for the night. 

The admiral cuts the rabbit into thirds.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Tzuyu says. “I ate some berries while I was hunting.” 

Momo seems delighted with this development, repossessing Tzuyu’s portion of the meal. 

The admiral chews thoughtfully. Never a good sign. “If you didn’t want to hunt, Momo or I could have.” 

“You’re not as good at it.” 

Both laugh, teeth bright in the splashes of firelight. 

Momo tucks back into her food. 

The admiral, though, keeps watching her. Tzuyu matches her gaze. Usually people don’t like her eyes. She knows they’re yellow, like a wolf’s. Nayeon had told her. She hasn’t looked in a mirror in years.

“Did the tattoo hurt?” 

“Yes.” It did. Tzuyu had tried not to cry when her master brought an ink-stained needle to paint a scar over her face. 

Jihyo and Momo both wince, as if imagining. Tzuyu hopes they take comfort in the fact that imagining is never as bad as the real thing, something they never had to bare. 

“I think it’s cool,” Momo offers. Maybe she means it. “Like a mask, but it’s part of you.” 

“You’re sure you ate enough?” The admiral looks worried. Why? 

“Yes,” Tzuyu says. 

She looks at the cuffs. 

“You can go throw those in the ocean if you want,” Jihyo says. “Or I could.”

Momo looks between them. There’s something familiar about her face. 

“I’ll do it.” Tzuyu reaches out to take the cuffs, then walks past the tree-line to the beach. 

The archer is meant for this sort of darkness. 

There’s something merciful in a sudden death. The anticipation is the bad part, but Tzuyu has seen it before, when a burn victim takes their last breath their eyes change from pain to relief. 

The perfect arrow doesn’t carry any pain with it. She likes to think the rabbit’s last thought is being carried on an unfaltering line into the next, better life. The world where it lives. 

Tzuyu throws the cuffs into the rage of the sea. 

Mina sits in the garden that borders her bedroom, watching clear water spill from the top of a white marble fountain. She can almost feel it, the cool currents running down her spine, gentle and clean. 

It’s hard to know how long she sits before she hears a voice. She knows by the beat of blood in the body behind her that it’s Nayeon.

“You can join me,” Mina calls, not turning away. “If you’d like.” 

The Fire Lord settles on the bench beside her, but not close. There’s enough room for a person to separate them. Mina wonders if Nayeon is wishing for Sana or Jeongyeon to come mediate, as they usually do. 

Together they settle into the silence as thick as the humid night air. 

“There’s a story they tell us as children in the Water Tribe,” Mina begins. 

The Fire Lord makes a small noise of interest in her throat. Maybe she’s trying to be polite. 

“There’s an old man, a beggar, out on the tundra. It’s the coldest night of the year, so he calls out to the animals, asking them to bring him something to eat and he’ll give them a great reward. The otterpenguin goes into the sea and brings back fish. The yak goes out into the frozen forest and brings back berries. The snow rat sneaks into a village and steals a loaf of bread. But the white rabbit knows all he can do is gather grasses and weeds, so he offers his own body and throws himself into the old man’s fire.”

Nayeon’s eyes widen, her focus so exact and so warm. 

“But the rabbit doesn’t burn. The old man is a spirit, and the sacrifice of the lowly rabbit humbles him. So he draws the likeness of the rabbit on the moon, so everyone will remember to be as kind.” 

Mina takes a deep breath when she finishes the story. Nayeon is still. 

“I remember signing the treaty as a child. When I did, I thought of the rabbit’s sacrifice. What you said earlier, about us being prisoners, I — I have felt that way before. The entrapment. The injustice.” Mina’s voice falters slightly, but Nayeon remains quiet. A small mercy. “I understand that you are angry at your uncle and my father, and I do not think you are wrong to be. But I would just — I hope that you are not angry with me.” 

Together they take a shaky breath.

“I’m not,” Nayeon whispers. Her voice is strained, eyes hopeless. 

It’s almost enough to forgive her.

“You’ve been harsh,” Mina murmurs. “Especially in front of the others. I would like it better if —” Mina tries to find some bravery within herself. “If you were like how you are when we’re alone.” 

Nayeon nods. Maybe she doesn’t trust herself to speak.

Mina forgives her. 

“There are mountains and valleys on the moon,” Mina offers. “Maybe even rivers and oceans.” 

“You really do like water.” Nayeon sniffles slightly, but her eyes dance again with playfulness. 

“Do you like fire?”

“It’s the same as looking in a mirror.” Nayeon chews her lip. “So sometimes I like it and sometimes I don’t.” 

Mina thinks of the little tickles of fire that Sana had spun around her hands last night. Before that, on the ship, she had watched as Jeongyeon gently lit candles between her fingertips. Both seemed like perfect representations of their respective creators. 

Curiosity gets the better of her. “Would you show me?” 

Maybe this, better than anything, will make Nayeon more clear to her. This supposedly vicious, supposedly wonderful girl. 

“What do you want to see?”

“Whatever’s true.” 

Nayeon leads her to a new room, pitch black and cavernous. 

But then it changes.

There’s a line of blistering red embers that hiss and burst. Slowly, they begin to bloom into thin yellow flames. As the light begins to swell to fill the room, Mina can see a platform behind the fire, with a stone dragon that twists through the wall. His mouth is opened wide, surrounding what must be the throne. 

“That’s where we’ll sit.” Orange now tints at the edges of the flames. 

Mina squints. There doesn’t seem to be a second, lower seat for her. 

“Beside each other,” Nayeon explains. “Come on.”

Mina follows her, past tall pillars, up the steps to where the tall flames sway listlessly. When Mina can feel their heat on her cheeks, they lower, as if in a bow. Nayeon extends her hand, helping her step over the embers. 

It’s true that there isn’t a throne, at least not in the traditional sense. There is no ornate, uncomfortable chair, only flat tile. Nayeon sinks to her knees, then back to rest on her heels. Mina does the same.

“My uncle used to say that a throne is a chokehold. All you can do is smile in its grip.” Nayeon grins, but it’s like the overemphasized mask of an actor. 

“Do you miss him?” 

The flames redden and rise. 

“He wasn’t a good man,” Nayeon sighs. “He let people suffer in poverty, and when they rose against him he used the money for a war instead of helping them. That’s the political answer. But what’s truer might be that he was just a person. He was kind as much as he was cruel, and he raised me to —” There’s the slightest hint of blue in the flames now. “— hurt people. Not the way you’d think, not with fire. There are so many ways to hurt people.” 

Mina, against her instinct, reaches out to place a hand on the Fire Lord’s clothed knee. 

Nayeon doesn’t react. Her voice continues, as if in a trance. “You said to show you what’s truest, so I — there are some things I can see in these flames that you can’t. Sana always says ‘the truth will set you free, but not before it’s finished with you.’” 

“You don’t have to” Mina whispers, but Nayeon isn’t listening. 

“Before the war, I met Sana and Momo. Sana was from this noble family, but they didn’t have much in terms of money. Her father was generous with his people, but it made their family nearly poor. But then Sana’s father found Momo, this —” The flames rise impossibly higher. “Prodigy. The things she could do, even without training. It was amazing. But I was stupid. I told my uncle about her. I also told him about Sana, and she and Momo were together. My uncle ordered me to—” Nayeon gulps. “—to separate them. To get her to love me instead. But I told him I could seduce them both.” 

Seduce. 

Mina shivers. 

“I hope that explains my reticence to have sex with someone based on my uncle’s orders. It’s been a bit of a pattern” Nayeon smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “My uncle saw Momo as a weapon. But I — I didn’t. All three of us cared for each other. But sometimes I chose my uncle over them. I wanted to win the war. Momo would come back from battles, Sana and I would comfort her. The cycle seemed to work, in its poisonous way. But as the war got worse, my uncle became paranoid. He started hunting down spies without evidence and killing his own advisors.” 

Nayeon takes a deep, steadying breath. 

“My uncle started to question my loyalty. He would threaten me but I didn’t care. I was his only heir, I knew he couldn’t really hurt me. But he knew I was closer to Momo and Sana than I was supposed to be. So he threatened them. He had hired an assassin to murder Momo and Sana. I tried to convince him not to kill them, that it was stupid to get rid of our weapon but he didn’t care. By that point he didn’t really want to win the war. He just wanted to hurt everyone he could before the rebels came and took it all away.” 

The flames fall, barely burning. 

“I’m sure you can guess what I did.” There’s a tight, humorless smile on Nayeon’s face. “Sana found me, right there.” Nayeon points out into the darkness. “I was ready to give it all up, to accept that my uncle had succeeded in making a monster to replace him, to end the war and give my throne to someone who deserved it.”

Mina thinks back to Sana at dinner earlier, munching happily as she explained the topography of Ember Island. 

“But Sana told me to lie. We made it look like an archer killed him, and then she went to Momo’s bedroom and I went to mine. We haven’t —” Nayeon swallows thickly. “We haven’t been together since then.” 

Mina’s hand is still on Nayeon’s knee. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure.” Nayeon laughs. 

“You didn’t have to tell me,” Mina musters. There’s a sudden chaos in her own body that she can’t make sense of. 

“In all of my past relationships, I didn’t think I needed to tell the truth. Not all of it. That would just hurt people, to know how ugly I am.” Nayeon hums. There’s no plead for assurance, for disagreement.“You and I won’t be together in the romantic sense, but we will be partners. I want to try and be honest, even if that leads to more late-night monologues.” 

There’s a flash of humor in Nayeon’s smile. It does nothing for the chaos constricting in Mina’s gut. 

“Do you want to be in a relationship with Sana and Momo?” 

“No.” 

That can’t be it, Mina thinks. There has to be more. 

“I know it’s unorthodox,” Nayeon continues as if on cue, “But we’ve faded back into friendship. Momo and Sana have something that I never really could reach, no matter how many nights I spent with them. Maybe because they’ve known each other longer, maybe because they actually know how to communicate.” 

It seems rehearsed, but Mina doesn’t want to imagine their tangled, naked limbs any longer. 

“It’s late,” she says. 

“Oh.” There’s disappointment in Nayeon’s voice. What did she want Mina to say? Mina wishes she had said it. “I’ll walk you back to your room.” 

“I think I know the way now,” Mina says, rising to walk past the line of dying embers. 

“Thank you for listening to me,” Nayeon calls. It sounds hopeful. 

Mina hurries through the halls of the palace, through her door, into the cool sheets of her waiting bed. But the chaos is still there, winding through her veins with a vengeance. 

She thinks of Nayeon and Sana and Momo, their lips on each other’s cheeks and mouths and necks. 

They didn’t need a bedding ceremony. 

She replaces Sana’s dark brown hair with her own, shorter black hair. She replaces Momo’s unblemished face with her own, spotted with moles. Her hand — no, Nayeon’s — pushes down the waistband of her pants.

For so long, for all the years she had spent in her father’s palace of ice, Nayeon had been a faceless piece of flesh that she imagined leering over her. But now she knows about the woman’s eyes, the shape of her lips, the odd grace of her fingers. 

She had imagined a Nayeon that would burn her clothes away and hold her to the bed and take what had been promised to her, but now — is this worse? 

The real Nayeon will never touch her.

She’ll sit beside Nayeon on that throne of flames, pretending to be equals, but the only heat she’ll ever feel from her wife is in the fire. 

The rabbit didn’t burn, but Mina is, twisting in the bedsheets, trying to find the right angle, pleading with the image of Nayeon to help her, to let her finally —

“Yes,” she whispers to herself. “Yes, baby, you can come.” 

Mina pants into her pillow, grinding against the sheets to milk whatever small pleasure she still can. 

If she thinks hard enough, she can feel brushes of Nayeon’s lips over her spine. 

The exhaustion finally floods her muscles. She lets herself drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! momo and tzuyu finally got to narrate
> 
> i said eventual smut just to be enticing in the tags but since we're to chapter five now i decided to try. hope it was, uh, decent. 
> 
> mina's story about the rabbit is loosely adapted from a real buddhist piece of folklore
> 
> 'the truth will set you free, but not before it's finished with you' is very closely paraphrased from infinite jest. yes, in this universe, sana is david foster wallace.
> 
> i just wanna say a very big thank you to everyone who has read this far/commented/left kudos. with everything that is going on with the world right now (twice included) i hope i can offer something fun and interesting. thank you for escaping with me! 
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Mina and Nayeon get married.
> 
> Tzuyu meets someone with a different kind of mask.


	6. melting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, very very mild animal violence

Nayeon lounges on one of the red velvet chaises in her bedroom, threading a spark through her fingers. She can hear Jeongyeon bustling around in the hall, asking the maids if they’ve cleaned something that yes, they had cleaned an hour ago, and then recleaned just out of pure terror. 

“I should be more nervous than you,” Nayeon drawls when her friend kicks open the door, arms full with a heap of fabric. 

Jeongyeon only huffs. “You could make yourself more useful.”

“I’m meditating,” Nayeon retorts. She sticks her tongue out, but Jeongyeon doesn’t turn to see. It’s a shame. 

There have been four days of frenetic wedding planning. Jeongyeon has overseen nearly everything with Sana as her unwavering second-in-command. 

“Is that the dress?” 

“I had to pry it out of the seamstress’ brittle hands.” Jeongyeon holds the silk up over herself. Jasmine flowers cascade down the folds of a rich, shining jade.

“We won’t be exactly matching, right? I don’t want this to look like I’m marrying my twin.” 

“Mina’s has a water motif,” Jeongyeon says, indicating the bodice of Nayeon’s dress, which cuts into layers of stylish flames. “And more black accents.” 

“Motif.” Nayeon snorts. “You should have been an art critic.”

“Trust me, I wish.” Jeongyeon drapes the dress on the bed. She glances at the pillows longingly. “I’m gonna lay down. Just for a minute.” 

Nayeon rises from the chaise, carefully lowering herself beside her friend on top of the covers, not touching her. The question is there, though.

Jeongyeon hums. 

“You’ve done well,” Nayeon murmurs as she drapes an arm over Jeongyeon’s shoulder. There’s more to say. “You’ve been there for everything.” 

Not just the wedding, but all the years at the Academy, through every failure and argument and hopeless, ugly moment. And the good ones, too, of course. When Jeongyeon stole a messenger hawk just so they could send notes across campus to each other. When they had both fallen in love with their respective people. When the weight of their duties dragged too heavy and all they could do was laugh together. 

Nayeon likes to remember the look in Jeongyeon’s eyes when she was coronated, soft but sure, and Nayeon pulled from that well of strength all these years and Jeongyeon just kept giving. 

“I’ll be there for the next part too,” Jeongyeon says, taking her hand. Then, with a quiet laugh, “I really can’t believe this is happening.” 

Nayeon’s heart beats strangely fast. “What do you think of Mina?” 

“That she’s not the worst person to be stuck with.” 

“You mean she’s pretty,” Nayeon pokes Jeongyeon’s cheek. 

“I meant she’s kind, but if you want to call it that —” 

“Say she’s pretty!” Nayeon’s fingertips flutter over Jeongyeon’s stomach. 

Jeongyeon squirms away. “Why do you want me to think she’s pretty?” 

“You have good taste in women.” 

“First, it doesn’t take taste to know whether or not someone is pretty —”

“So you admit it.”

“—second,” Jeongyeon continues, not heeding the interruption, “I distinctly remember you saying Mina is a hostage.” 

“Does everyone in this palace eavesdrop on my private —”

“You were shouting, Nayeon.”

Well. She can’t argue with that one. 

“We’ve sort of.” Nayeon chooses her next word cautiously, watching Jeongyeon’s face for any reaction. “Bonded. And I don’t want to hear any of Jihyo’s anecdotes about how prisoners end up falling in love with their wardens.”

“Falling in love,” Jeongyeon repeats. As if Nayeon hadn’t heard herself and her brain isn’t a closed loop of self-scolding. 

“Obviously that isn’t what’s happening. To be honest, it seems like Mina has never —” Nayeon steadies her hands. “Even had a friend.” 

“Well. You’re a good one.” 

“Don’t make me blush,” Nayeon preens. “And on the day of my wedding, no less!” 

“You really should get dressed,” Jeongyeon muffles into her neck as Nayeon squeezes out one last hug. 

Sana pulls a brush through Mina’s hair, her hand trailing each stroke. 

She hums idly to herself, hands fumbling as she attempts a bun for the third time. 

“No, that’s not right,” Sana breathes, letting Mina’s hair fall again over her face. 

“I can do it,” Mina offers. Sana had volunteered to look after Mina for the wedding, in the same way that Jeongyeon would look after Nayeon. Sana’s interpretation of her duties seemed to be doing everything for Mina, going as far as attempting to feed her at breakfast that morning. 

“Well,” Sana hesitates. But Mina knows she’s given up. “It’s not traditional.”

Weirdly, the most grueling part of the wedding preparation was learning about the ridiculous, intricate marital superstitions in the Fire Nation. For example, if a fire sage saw three eagles flying west the day of the wedding, it would have to be rescheduled. Jeongyeon joked about commissioning some archers around the city. 

Maybe not joking. 

There were sayings about food and weather and everything in between. Traditionally, a bride’s hair should be braided by their closest female relative, but. Well. 

She reaches up before Sana can bat her hands away and gathers her hair in a tight bun, neatly tying a golden ribbon around it. 

“You really look like a Fire Lady now.” 

Mina glances into the mirror in front of them. She looks younger with her hair up, but also graver somehow. Just like the portraits she’s seen of the royal families of the past, their mouths drawn tight, their eyes dull and ancient. 

But they must have been more than that, Mina thinks. Like how there can’t possibly ever be a painting of Nayeon that would do justice to her sudden brightness, or a brushstroke that could capture the gentleness in Sana’s gaze as she carefully slides a hairpin through Mina’s bun. 

“Are you ready?” 

Sana rests her hands on Mina’s shoulders. The slight weight is too much. 

“Yes.” Thankfully her voice is firm when nothing else is. 

Sana nods. There’s something like pride in her eyes. 

Mina hasn’t earned it, but Sana stays, through the whole walk through the palace, out into the amphitheater.

Mina feels the faint pull of the audience’s heartbeats. She tries to find Nayeon’s in this ocean of noise. But it’s too much. 

Even when she is on the stage, seated across from the girl, she can’t hear the blood in her body. 

“Hey,” Nayeon greets. Her voice is raised to combat the roar of the audience, smile full. 

Mina can only get herself to nod as she seats herself across from the Fire Lord. 

After the military choir sings a lengthy, slightly disturbing anthem, the head fire sage begins to shakily read the traditional vows. They promise all sorts of obscure virtues to each other, but the subtext is clear:

‘My life is your’s.’

And again.

‘My life is your’s.’ 

Mina has made this promise to Nayeon before, in all the years she waited in the north. When she hid herself in thick patterns of ice in her father’s palace, she imagined this girl made of fire rushing to her, the way the sun always follows the same perfect arc over the sky. And in the mixture of smoke and steam rising from the ruined palace this fire girl would say, ‘I couldn’t help it.’ And Mina would forgive her. 

So Mina repeats the vows as prompted, promises fidelity and respect and patience for the future to _this_ Nayeon, with a smile only fit for a stage. This Nayeon, who snorts every time the fire sage mispronounces a word. This Nayeon, vicious and gaudy and wonderful, who doesn’t mean it at all. 

When it’s time for their kiss, Nayeon leans forward and simply presses her cheek to the side of Mina’s face. 

Mina will take what she can.

Even something this small. 

She leans into the touch. Nayeon’s cheek is tense in a smile, but it fades into softness and simple warmth and the chorus of blood is so—

Nayeon pulls away. 

Tzuyu finally lets out the sneeze she’s been stifling when the eagle falls from its perch in the oak tree. 

She carefully steps through the underbrush, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

An archer doesn’t disrupt silence. Even if a kill is sure. 

She pulls Jihyo’s knife from the eagle’s chest, then wipes the blade off on a spread of the leaves of a white dragon bush. 

It’s been days of this pattern. No matter what folk remedies the admiral attempts, Momo is incurably seasick. Every night they wash up on a new beach, closer to Kyoshi Island, but they could have made it by now if not for the girl’s weak stomach. 

Not that Tzuyu minds. It’s nice to talk to people, or to have them let her listen. 

She passes by the small slashes she left in tree bark to guide her back to camp, placing her footsteps exactly where they were before. 

A twig snaps like a snare drum. 

Tzuyu goes still. 

Too small for a rabbit. Too low for a bird. A deer, maybe. 

“Hey!”

Oh. 

A person. 

A white-painted person, trouncing through the underbrush. There are reddish accents around her eyes. 

A Kyoshi Warrior. 

“Nice shot,” the warrior says, gesturing at the eagle. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Tzuyu says, turning to continue to camp. 

“Oh? Is this your island?” 

“No. Is it your’s?” 

The warrior laughs. She’s following her. Tzuyu flicks the knife in her hand. 

“You know, you could have gone into town if you wanted to eat. I can show you where it is.” 

The warrior is loud. She’s getting closer. 

“I’m not going to eat it.” 

“Oh. That’s kind of fucked up, isn’t it?” 

Tzuyu turns. 

“This isn’t Kyoshi Island.” 

The white-faced warrior nods. 

“But you are here.” 

The white-faced warrior nods. 

“Why?” 

“Why’d you kill an eagle?” The warrior’s eyes glint. 

“For the admiral.” Tzuyu says with a sigh. She turns. Jihyo and Momo are hungry. 

“The Fire Lord sent a fleet?” 

“No. I’m just a lowly war criminal, after all.” 

Tzuyu waits for the laugh. Nayeon would laugh at something like that.

“What does that have to do with the pirates?” 

Oh. 

This conversation is a mess. 

Jihyo paces in front of the campfire, Momo and Tzuyu’s eyes tracing her every step. 

“So let me get this straight —” Jihyo looks at the Kyoshi Warrior, a small girl who is currently munching on eagle. Jihyo’s eagle. 

“Chaeyoung,” the warrior pipes up.

“Right.” Jihyo takes a deep breath. “So pirates have taken over the trade routes between the edge of the Fire Nation straits and Kyoshi Island, going so far as to take over Fire Nation fishing villages. Dahyun, at the bequest of your captain, has sent numerous letters to Fire Lord Nayeon, but you...”

“Haven’t heard a peep,” Chaeyoung offers. 

“Haven’t heard a peep,” Jihyo repeats. “And so you and a few other Kyoshi Warriors have been sent to begin a guerilla war on another country’s soil.” 

“I mean, it’s kind of apples to oranges if you consider the whole colonialist history of —”

Jihyo raises a hand to stop her. She’s also heard this twice. “I get it.” 

“Good,” Chaeyoung grins. 

“And these pirates are, to your knowledge, waterbenders.” 

Chaeyoung nods, smacking contentedly on her last bite of eagle. What could have been Jihyo’s last bite of eagle. 

“Which is bad,” Jihyo finishes. 

“Also, I’m here.” Tzuyu bites into a mango. Momo keens, tucking her head against the archer’s shoulder. 

“Which is good,” Momo emphasizes. 

Jihyo smiles. The archer was endearing. Maybe not instantly — it had taken a few days, but there was some sort of innocence barely disguised by the occasional bluntness, the clipped sentences she spoke in. Jihyo hadn't minded the extra time it took to camp every night. That gave them the chance to sit around the fire and exchange war stories, something Jeongyeon never really had the stomach for. 

But what’s actually good, what’s actually comforting Jihyo in this sudden pile of information, is that Momo is here. Of course the Momo that is kind, that helps Tzuyu swim through the riptides as they come up to shore, that offers her blanket when Jihyo shivers through the night, of course that Momo is good. But the Momo everyone has raved about, the prodigy, the power of the sun — Jihyo might need that now. 

Nayeon leans heavily against one of the pillars in the palace courtyard, looking up at the marigold and rose blooms of the fireworks in the clear sky. 

The day had been long, even longer than she expected. Every time she thought she’d get a minute to herself, another noble family was trying to get a word of congratulations in, always followed by a roundabout plea for some favor. Mina had snuck off not long ago, saying she wanted to send a letter to her father.

Sana had spent most of the day conspiring to get Jeongyeon to go dancing in the city with her. The two had abandoned the reception as soon as Nayeon had taken her eyes off them. 

It’s almost funny, to stand here watching fireworks again. The Fire Lily Festival was maybe a week ago but it feels as distant as childhood. Just a week ago that she thought of Momo and Sana and wished —

“Meditating?” 

It’s Mina. 

“Always." Nayeon didn't exactly expect her to come back. There was no reason to. All that was left of the reception were the drunks. 

“I’m still restless,” Mina says with a light laugh. “I was wondering if you are too.”

“Of course I am.” With anyone else, Nayeon is sure her tone would have been childish and whiny and maybe funny, but when she hears her own words they seem patronizing or exhausted. She tries again, softening her voice to match the girl in front of her. “It’s been hard to watch everyone else play around while we’re still on display.” 

“I was thinking we could, uh, maybe go for a walk.” There’s something careful about her tonight. Nayeon thought that had worn off, but each day Mina seems to reset again to a certain timidness. 

“You just want me so you can get past the guards,” Nayeon counters. It’s instinctual to tease. But Mina looks so sincerely hopeful and Nayeon feels heavy with it.

“Exactly,” Mina says, the corners of her mouth lifting into the slightest smile. Her eye’s finally flick up to meet Nayeon’s.

“And what do I get out of it?” Nayeon can’t resist.

“A walk?” 

Right. Can’t expect much.

Only a handful of guards didn’t end up defecting for the buffet, and the ones who remained at their posts only think to stand up straighter as Nayeon passes, not prevent her and Mina from violating the security curfew.

“Do you ever get lost,” Mina asks after they climb another set of stairs.

Nayeon leans against the wall, taking a quick breather. “Never,” she grins.

They walk along a parapet, down and ladder, and then are out in the flush of pines and unfiltered moonlight.

“Welcome back to the world,” Nayeon says, to Mina and to herself. The sky around the palace is usually stained with ash — the volcano makes a great visual backdrop, but it takes a toll on the air quality. Tonight, however, the air is almost buzzing with a frantic energy. Maybe the fireworks. Maybe just the little shot of adrenaline that Nayeon always gets from doing something she’s not supposed to, no matter how trivial it might be. 

“I think there’s a river around here,” Nayeon says, cupping a small flame in her hand.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not obsessed with water,” Mina sighs, but there’s a lightness to her voice. “There’s plenty in your palace.” 

“You don’t miss your’s?” Nayeon steps through a snarl of vines, her ear trained for the sound of rushing water.

“I miss the ice a little,” Mina huffs, struggling with a thorny branch.

Nayeon turns to help her untangle herself. “I’ve never seen ice. Or snow. Or anything other than all this, honestly.”

“Then it's good that it's beautiful,” Mina says, looking up through a break in the leaves at the peak of the volcano, dusted the slightest orange by the lava within.

“It’s destructive,” Nayeon corrects, hoping she sounds light-hearted. She doesn’t. 

Before Mina can say anything, Nayeon lets her flame die. She can hear the river.

“I never get lost,” she tells the younger girl proudly, hopping over a few jagged rocks to where the water flows delicately over smooth black stones. The reflection of the moonlight makes it look like lace.

Mina wipes some sweat from her brow and hunches, pushing a hand under the flow. Her shoulders relax. 

“You’re obsessed with water,” Nayeon grins. “What a boring hobby.” 

The teasing slips out. Nayeon is about to burn her own tongue when Mina looks up, a wide, gum-pink smile on her face. A new smile.

“I’m a simple girl,” she says.

Nayeon knows that’s a lie. She crouches to watch how the water distorts the shape of her own fingers as it flows. 

A distant firework breaks like a vase against the sky. 

“Here,” Mina says, lifting her hands. Water droplets begin to fall, but then harden into a crisp white. Like lightning. “Ice.” 

Something painful seizes in Nayeon’s chest. She reaches to touch, and the ice melts immediately. Shrinks away from her. Afraid of her. 

Mina’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth opened in an exact —

“Oh.”

“Did I hurt —”

“What do you call that?” Mina rolls the sleeve of her robe up, bringing up a spiral of ice. “Do it again,” she pouts, expectant. 

Nayeon lays her hand against the cold ridges of the ice. Smoke and steam rise as it vanishes again.

Mina laughs. “I’ve never seen that before!” 

The something that seized heals itself in Nayeon’s chest.

“That’s melting.” A smile itches across the Fire Lord’s face. 

“Melting,” Mina repeats. “Maybe it’s silly, but —”

“No, no, it’s — I never thought something like that could be new to someone.” 

For the next few minutes, Mina keeps raising figures of ice and watches intently as they melt in the unnatural heat of Nayeon’s hands. 

“It’s like watching something bloom in reverse,” she whispers. 

Nayeon laughs at the reverence and Mina laughs too. 

“You never had something melt in your mouth?” 

Mina frowns. “Why would I put ice in my mouth?” 

Nayeon giggles. How long has it been since she’s giggled? She snaps a off a cut of ice and offers it to Mina. The girl wrinkles her nose, but ultimately sighs in defeat and places it inside her mouth. She winces at the sudden gush of cold. 

“No, no. Like this.”

She takes her own piece.

“See?” she awkwardly asks around the ice, careful not to snap the cold between her teeth. She opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out slightly so the edge of it touches her lips. 

Mina stares down at her. 

“Oh,” the girl says. 

There’s something stiff now, something like static in the air waiting to be called to order. The hairs on the back of Nayeon’s neck rise at the darkness, the deepness of Mina’s eyes as they flick down to her lips. 

No. To the ice.

Nayeon leans back, closing her mouth. 

“So. That’s it.” 

“Melting,” Mina says quietly, just as reverential, as if the awe hasn’t yet been strained away. 

They walk back to the palace, Nayeon leading through a few wrong turns in the forest. 

“You know the way, right,” Nayeon asks when they enter through a set of golden doors. 

“Yes.” 

Nayeon leaves her there with a simple goodnight. In her bathroom, she splashes her face with cool water again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really dreaded writing this chapter, so i'm just ripping off the band-aid. weddings are boring, no matter how horny mina is 
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Mina makes a mistake. 
> 
> Jihyo and Momo start a fire.


	7. imitations of life

Tzuyu does one last survey of the hut, trying to remember everyone’s names. The last few days have left her exhausted with information and hurried introductions. It’s hardest to differentiate the Kyoshi Warriors especially, which might be good for a certain morale but it leaves Tzuyu dizzy in a sea of white and red paint. 

Dahyun: Kyoshi Warrior. Technically in charge. White hair. Birth defect? 

Chaeyoung: Kyoshi Warrior. Short. Nerve-wracking. 

Jihyo: Admiral. Actually in charge. 

Momo: Friend. 

Jihyo is crouched in the center of the hut, re-drawing a botched map of the strait in the sand. 

Tzuyu has already pointed out the inaccuracies. Dahyun has said it’s ‘essentially okay’. Everyone has accepted this. 

“So if we leave from this cove, the sightlines should allow us to approach and ambush the ship.” 

“Should being the operative word,” Dahyun says, pushing up her spectacles. They look odd with the face paint, like a librarian dressed up for battle. “Waterbenders can sense anything approaching in the sea. We’ve tried sending out a skiff, but they created currents so we couldn’t get close enough to do any damage.”

“Pacifist pirates,” Chaeyoung pipes up. Chaeyoung is the only Kyoshi Warrior currently not wearing facepaint, which is a gift. It makes it easier to tell when she’s joking. 

Jihyo bristles at the shortest warrior’s interruptions, but Dahyun always brightens with each new quip. Tzuyu decides to reserve judgment. 

“Not actually,” Dahyun fills in, eyes snapping back to serious when she sees the frown on Jihyo’s face. “They’ve killed a, uh —”

“Fuckton,” Chaeyoung supplies.

“Yes. That. That amount of people.” 

“Could I get an actual headcount on fuckton?” Jihyo sighs. 

Dahyun shuffles through the papers in front of her, mumbling to herself. 

“I’m pretty impressed,” Chaeyoung drawls. “A Fire Nation admiral weighing the ethical pros and cons of war. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’m sure the pirates are just in tears right now trying to figure out if they should put a shard of ice through a fisherman’s face —”

“Well maybe if your precious Fire Lord hadn’t taxed the—” 

“We have seventy-two deaths on our hands,” Dahyun calls. 

Momo pales. 

Tzuyu thinks of seventy-two arrows. Having to sand down each thin piece of wood, sharpen the arrowheads, thread the feathers. 

People who bend are never careful. 

“Yep,” Jihyo huffs. “That’s a fuckton.” 

“So. What do we do?” Dahyun looks eager. So does Chaeyoung, in a contrarian sort of way. 

Momo gulps. She hasn’t eaten all day. Tzuyu reminds herself to catch a rabbit later. 

“Well, considering the messenger hawks in this region are apparently being blocked from communicating with any other cities...” Jihyo looks down into the sand. Tzuyu hopes there’s an answer there. “There’s no way to confirm this plan with the Fire Lord.”

“I have a solution.” Chaeyoung grins from ear to ear. “We’ll establish a military dictatorship.” 

“And what exactly do you call your occupation of a Fire Nation village.” All the edge has left Jihyo’s voice. It’s been hours of this. 

“Charity,” Chaeyoung says, at the same time as Dahyun’s “an act of goodwill!” 

“Well you haven’t exactly done a great job,” Jihyo continues. “Sorry, Dahyun.”

“No offense taken.” 

“If we theoretically could attack a hive of waterbenders at sea,” Chaeyoung starts, “how would we do it?” 

“Ideally we’d have a warship that could launch remote attacks,” Jihyo hums. “But it’s no use talking about what we don’t have. Our only option, a sneak attack, is unnecessarily risky if we’re approaching from their element.” 

“There is a blindspot.” Dahyun sits up straighter in her chair. “Firebenders may not sense this, but with things like earth, water, and air you can feel what is inside the scope of your bending. For example, an earthbender knows where the roots of a tree are underneath the ground. And an airbender can feel the beats of a bird’s wings. These things are natural, so they’re usually tuned out as unnecessary information.”

Tzuyu smiles. 

“So for a waterbender, yes, a sneak attack by boat will be a glaring misstep by an enemy. But there are fish and sharks and —”

“We swim,” Jihyo smiles too, catching on. 

“But then what?” Chaeyoung picks nervously at her nails. “We’ll still be standing on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a bunch of homicidal, waterbending pirates.” 

“That’s true,” Dahyun hums, her excitement faltering. 

Jihyo, however, still glows. “That’s why we have Momo.” 

Every morning the Fire Lady wakes at dawn. 

Sometimes the handmaidens come in before the sun. But Mina doesn’t say anything. A Fire Lady shouldn’t, even when the bath is drawn so hot that she sweats through the soap. 

The handmaidens dress her and braid her hair. They aren't as gentle as Sana. She’s heard them muttering to each other in the halls that it’s unnatural to serve a foreigner. Mina thinks of telling Jeongyeon or Nayeon, but maybe they would agree. 

Every morning the Fire Lady and the Fire Lord have breakfast together, then go to the throne room to spend the afternoon. At first, in the immediate wake of the wedding, the nobles and advisors came to offer congratulations and lavish, impractical gifts. 

A week later the excitement has worn off. She and Nayeon spend their hours listening to a barrage of complaints and accusations. 

Mina keeps expecting Nayeon to be sharp and exact in replying to every insult, every ridiculous proposal, but the flames barely twist. Instead, the Fire Lord nods dutifully, guiding each subject through their rants with nods and sympathetic eyebrow furrows. 

It’s masterful.

Then, once the golden doors have shut, Nayeon will begin to curse rapidly under her breath. 

Just now it was a thin, wiry woman who claimed that her son is Nayeon’s fourth cousin once removed, and he is the rightful heir. This had been one of the patterns — the noble families were openly eager at the prospect that Nayeon wouldn’t have any natural-born children, and so they came bearing gnarled family trees. 

“The gall,” Nayeon spits when the woman leaves, “They should just do it the old-fashioned way, like vultures. Swirl over me when I finally keel over, and whichever snivelling little third-cousin kills all the other sniveling third-cousins gets to be Fire Lord.” 

Mina reaches out to rest her hand on Nayeon’s knee. 

This is also part of the pattern; these quick, restrained comforts. 

Rivers of blood soothe through Nayeon’s body. Mina’s own muscles slack in relief. 

Every time she reaches out she worries it’ll be the same as the night of the melting. That Nayeon will see her clearly again and flee for the palace. 

But now the pattern is established, and Nayeon is alive under her hand. 

“What will you do about succession?” 

“Jeongyeon used to say this whole system is ridiculous,” Nayeon gestures, as she likes to, out at the empty room like it’s the whole world. “The idea that if you just happen to be born to a certain bloodline, you get to rule. I never wanted to agree with her because,” Nayeon laughs, “That’s my bloodline. But I’ve realized that a lot of people could do better, do more, even though they’ll never get a chance to. When I die, I want people like that to pick someone new.” 

Mina tries to imagine Jihyo or Jeongyeon or Sana instead of Nayeon beside her.

It doesn’t fit. 

“You’re a natural at this though,” Mina offers. “I’ve watched my father rule for years, but he — it’s nothing like you.” 

Nayeon brushes off the weight of this half-confession with a playful smirk. “Honestly, Mina, sometimes I think the fact that this comes naturally means I’m not the right person to do it.” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Mina laughs. She dares to brush her thumb over Nayeon’s knee. 

The doors open and they she retreats. It’s thrilling to have a secret with someone, even one as small as a hand on a knee. 

The campfire’s reflection flickers over Dahyun’s spectacles, her face lit in asymmetrical shadows. 

“You look insane,” Jihyo teases, gently bumping the girl’s shoulder with her own. 

Dahyun smiles even wider. 

“That’s even worse!” 

It had been too long since Jihyo had seen the younger girl. No. Warrior, she reminds herself. 

When she met Dahyun, the girl had been a bumbling palace handmaid that was adopted by Sana and Momo into their circle of friends. They all had affection for her, but Jihyo always felt a special affinity — they were both workers, not nobles. 

“I’ll just scare the pirates away,” Dahyun does an impression of an evil, deep laugh. “Then Momo won’t have to wake up.” 

At the edge of the campfire’s orange sphere of light, Momo is laid out, head in Tzuyu’s lap. The archer is propped up against a tree trunk, her eyes closed, mouth parted. 

“You’re our last hope,” the admiral chuckles. 

“It’s funny that it took another war for us to run into each other.”

“This isn’t a war, Dahyun.” 

The warrior shrugs. “What do you think will happen when Momo gets on that ship? That they’ll just surrender and go back to the Pole? That she’ll burn the whole thing into the sea and the Tribe won’t retaliate?”

“The Tribe isn’t associated with this,” Jihyo says. “We have a peace deal.” 

“That’s the North,” Dahyun points out. “The South is my bet on who's funding this.”

“I guess Nayeon needs to marry another princess.” 

Dahyun laughs helplessly. “How’s that going?” 

“I have no clue.” Jihyo bites her lip. “I missed the wedding.” She feels a slight guilt, for Nayeon, and a greater one, for Jeongyeon. 

“What’s she like?”

“Mina is…” Jihyo hums. The campfire flashes brighter as a log finally splinters from the heat. “She beat me at pai sho.” 

Dahyun’s hand claps over her mouth, trying to stifle a loud laugh. 

“I know,” Jihyo whines. “And she didn’t even cheat. I know every trick in the book. I would’ve caught her.” 

They fall back into the haze of cicadas, Jihyo tending the fire with a few nests of pine straw. 

“I need to tell you,” Dahyun says quietly, her big eyes hesitant, “something sort of — well, we should keep it to ourselves.” 

The warrior takes a deep breath. 

“When Momo gets on that ship, she can’t wait for them to surrender. She has to burn them all.” 

Jihyo gawks. “Dahyun, we can’t just massacre—” 

“You haven’t seen them.” Dahyun’s eyes, now clear without the spectacles to obscure them, are dim with an exhaustion that reaches past just this night. “Do you really think a few rag-tag pirate ships could just take over half the Fire Nation strait? Then block off all communication with the mainland?” 

“I can believe it because that’s what happened.” 

“You haven’t seen them,” Dahyun pleads. “What they can do — it’s like they can bend people’s bodies.” 

Jihyo laughs, the tension snapping. “Dahyunnie, bloodbending is just a myth! You’re too smart to believe in that little folktale.” 

“I’ve seen it.” 

Jihyo chews at her lip. “Blood is too pressurized to bend.” 

“No, it isn’t.” Dahyun slumps, sliding her spectacles back on. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. In fact, I’m happy that you didn’t have to see what I did. But don’t let Momo —”

“If Momo burns that whole ship without asking for a surrender, that’s a war crime. Pirates or not, we can’t just do whatever we —” 

“If Momo hesitates, they’ll stop her heart. She won't have a chance." 

“This is like pai sho,” Jihyo tries to joke, searching Dahyun’s face for any softness. It isn’t there. “I can either trust you have the best tile, in which case my move is useless, or you’re wrong and I’m just giving you the game.” Jihyo shudders dramatically. “And I can’t cheat.” 

Dahyun finally smiles. “I have the best tile.” Together they look to where Momo and Tzuyu are still sleeping, arms around each other. “Don’t risk her.”

After dinner, the Fire Lady and the Fire Lord go on a walk. 

This isn’t a part of any official itinerary or historic tradition, but it is part of the tentative pattern Mina has found in-between the slots of obligatory meetings and meals. 

Tonight, Nayeon brings her up staircase after staircase, until the night opens over a balcony. It’s the best view she’s had of the city and the bay, tucked into the elbow of the coast. 

Mina choreographs a fantasy where Nayeon’s fingers slide along the railing, coming to rest on her wrists and then Nayeon finally feels the rapid pace of her heartbeat calling out for— 

“I used to come up here with Jihyo,” Nayeon says, leaning against the parapet to look out at the distant sea. It’s too far for Mina to take comfort in the rhythm of its tides — just a pretty thing, flat and black and unmoving. “We both like to pace when we’re anxious, and so we’d just walk in circles, interrupting each other for hours.” 

The palace, like Nayeon’s heart, seems to be already divided into rooms meant for other people. There is no hallway or garden or statue that the Fire Lord couldn’t attach to an anecdote about her antics with Jeongyeon or Sana or Jihyo or Momo. Mina is like a ghost, drifting through a world that had outgrown her. But it was silly. She wasn’t a ghost, just maybe a replacement until Jihyo and Momo return, and then the Fire Lord could tour the palace with the originals again. 

“When are she and Momo coming back?” Mina asks, because she know she’s meant to. 

“Not sure,” Nayeon hums. “They haven’t written. Sana’s getting more nervous by the hour but I’m sure it’s fine.” 

Mina just hums. 

“You know.” The moon is bright enough to cast shadows across Nayeon’s face. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you and I — I’m glad we’re friends.” She smiles playfully. It’s almost infectious. ”I hope that's not overstepping.” 

Mina grips the metal railing, testing the strength of her grip. “Not at all.” She knows it’s a joke. She should laugh. Nayeon wants her to laugh. 

“What is it?” The Fire Lord’s face is a perfect mask of worry. 

“Nothing.” Mina’s quickly panics for an excuse. “I — my handmaidens.” Perfect. “I don’t think they — I think they’d prefer to be reassigned.” 

Nayeon frowns. 

“They don’t seem comfortable with — well, with a foreigner.” 

Mina expects Nayeon to curse and rant, to put on a mask of outrage and wear it proudly until they go to their separate rooms. 

Instead, the girl beside her slumps. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is small. Maybe genuine. “I didn’t consider that. Did they say something to you?”

“No. Just to each other.” 

Nayeon pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay. I’ll find some others who might be—”

“I can take care of myself,” Mina offers hurriedly. “I’d prefer to.” 

“Alright. You’ll let me know if anyone else says anything, right?” 

“Don’t be offended,” Mina says gently, almost teasing, watching Nayeon’s fingers drum against the railing, “but I wasn’t entirely sure you’d be on my side.” 

“Well, the Fire Nation probably deserves that, but I don’t.” The Fire Lord sticks out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. 

Mina is helpless. 

Jihyo and Dahyun had agreed on dusk for the ambush. The Kyoshi Warriors were now milling about in preparation. Tzuyu isn’t actually sure what their purpose is — from all the briefings, it seems that Momo will be the only one boarding the ship — but it's too much effort to ask. 

Chaeyoung, oddly, seems to be the only calm person in camp. Every time Tzuyu tears her gaze away from Momo, the warrior is staring at her. It seems to be a habit, watching a person watch other people. Maybe she would be a good archer. 

“I don’t know anything about politics,” Tzuyu says, deciding to confront this before it festers further. 

“What an abrupt statement,” Chaeyoung laughs. She has dimples. Nerve-wracking. 

“You like politics. You’re staring at me. And you want to have a conversation.”

“I hate politics.” Chaeyoung is the only warrior left bare-faced. “They’re boring. But I do want to have a conversation.” The warrior scoots closer, lowering her voice. “But not here.” 

Chaeyoung leads her through the village, past Jihyo doing stress squats — a habit Tzuyu had become accustomed to, one that seemed to fit in with the general energy of the Kyoshi Warriors — and Dahyun giving a wide-eyed girl elaborate instructions on how to suture a wound. 

They settle in a cramped, messy hut. Chaeyoung moves a pile of wrinkled robes into two, smaller piles for them to sit on.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Chaeyoung pulls a wooden box across the sand floor. Inside, there are sealed jars of paint and a smattering of stained brushes. She unscrews a few caps, selects a relatively clean brush, and holds it out. 

“I don’t really —”

“You’re an archer, right? You’ve got steady hands.” Chaeyoung holds up her own. “See? I’m kinda shaky.”

“You’re nervous?” Tzuyu takes the brush and dips it into the white. 

“We’re about to start a war,” the girl laughs as the archer carefully spreads the paint over her forehead. She’s careful to be gentle. 

“We’re about to set a pirate ship on fire,” Tzuyu corrects. 

“Gotta start somewhere, right?” 

Tzuyu hums. 

“I like your tattoo,” Chaeyoung says when she finishes painting over her cheeks and jawline. 

Tzuyu leans back, assessing her work. “I don’t really remember how the red —”

“You remember.” Chaeyoung is firm. “You’re an archer.” 

Tzuyu sighs. She does remember. She darkens Chaeyoung’s brows, sweeps delicate lines beneath her eyes in black, and then fills it in with the crimson paint. 

“I’ll do the rest,” Chaeyoung says, taking the brush back. 

“Your paint will just come off in the water,” Tzuyu sighs as the warrior paints a thin red line down the center of her lips. Why expend all this energy on someone else’s battle? Why worry of — 

“Yeah, it’s silly.” 

The warriors hands tremble as she repacks the jars and brushes into the wooden box. 

Tzuyu wants to offer some sort of consolation, something like what Nayeon would deliver with a smile through the bars of her cell. A promise about the future. A promise she can keep. 

Right now, there isn’t one. 

After their talk on the balcony, Mina and Nayeon go down their separate halls to their bedrooms. 

As Mina is about to collapse on her silk sheets, she sees a shadow cross over her window. 

She picks up a pail of water she keeps tucked under the bed, fist tight around the handle as she peeks past the curtains. 

It’s just Sana, in the garden, drifting around aimlessly in her nightgown. 

With a relieved sigh, Mina hides the pail and goes out to join the other woman. It’s a clear night, not just black but rusted with blue and purple like a fresh bruise, and she's still restless from the conversation with Nayeon. 

She calls out to Sana, who looks up sheepishly. She’s bent over a bush, delicately unhitching a flower from its stem. 

“I always worry that I smell like a firepit,” Sana explains as she rubs a white petal against her neck. She then taps her skin, a suddenly childish smile on her face. “Check for me?” 

Mina leans in, just enough to catch the thin fragrance of a soiled gardenia. “It’s nice.” 

Nayeon smells like smoke. Sweet and dark. 

Sana plops down on a stone bench and tilts her face back, looking up at the first brushings of stars. 

“Isn’t it funny to think they’re always there?” Sana’s eyes shine. “Moving in their own slow circles around the sky, but no one notices.”

Mina looks up at the harmless, distant white fires. 

“It would be nice if people noticed,” Sana whispers. 

“At the Pole, half the year is one long night,” Mina says, matching the softness of her voice. “Instead of the sun, the stars rise and set.”

Sana smiles. “I’d like to see that someday. Maybe you can take me with you.” 

“I won’t go back,” Mina says, maybe a little too strict. 

“You don’t miss anyone?” 

She’s curious, not judgmental, so Mina takes a deep breath. “I didn’t really have anyone. Not like you do.” Mina fingers flutter nervously over the silk of her robe. The stillness of the night feels too heavy, too damning, like the unbearable lifelessness of deep water. 

Mina prays for strength, pulling from that dark well. ““I don’t know how to touch people.” 

She expects a laugh. Sana just hums dutifully.

“I haven’t even kissed anyone.”

She expects a look of pity. Sana doesn’t waver. 

“Would you —” This is where words stop. Mina leans forward, into the faint warmth of the other woman. “Please.” 

Sana's hands delicately reposition Mina’s face, but not to guide their lips together. Her eyes are bright, alert, searching. 

‘Don’t look,’ the water rages. ‘Don’t let her look.’ 

“Mina.” Her breath heats Mina’s face in the shape of her sad smile. “You don’t want to kiss me.” 

The water in her body surges forward. “Please,” she whispers against Sana’s mouth, trying to re-part Sana’s lips with her own. “Like Nayeon would.”

The firebender catches her by the shoulders, maneuvering Mina away with an undeserved tenderness. 

Mina’s throat clenches around a sob.

“I’m sorry no one took care of you." Sana is as exact as a butcher. "I’m sorry you fell in love with a girl you didn’t know." There’s something like ice to Sana’s voice, something so uncharacteristically brittle and cold. "So I’m going to hold you, and then I’m going to leave.” 

Everything spills. 

The white stars streak across Mina’s vision. The humid air is too rough to breathe. The sky’s wounds press down on her chest. 

All through it, Sana gently scratches at Mina’s scalp, as if she can smooth the ugly, jagged thoughts inside the girl’s skull. 

“I’m so stupid,” Mina chokes out, almost incoherent. “I’m so, so stupid.” 

She waits for Sana to twist her words into something harsher, something that will hurt freshly, but the woman just pets Mina’s hair through the next wave of painful gasps. 

The gentleness is unbearable. 

“You don’t get it,” Mina tries, still trembling. “You’ve never been alone.” 

There’s no interruption to the rhythm of Sana’s heart. 

“Don’t let your sadness be cruel,” she whispers. “That’s what I tell myself when I feel like this.” 

Mina takes a deep, angry breath when she sees the simple, sage look of peace in Sana’s eyes. “You've never felt like this. You’ve never been unloved.” 

“See, that’s cruel,” Sana readjusts their limbs so Mina can hide her face against the firebender’s collar. “And I’m going to hold you through it.” 

“But you’ll leave” Mina whimpers. 

“Yes.” Sana surrounds her in a hug. 

Every time Mina thinks she’s run her eyes dry, another reason thaws and she spills freshly again. Her lungs strain for air, but there is a surface. There are Sana’s hands, holding her in the dark well as it finally empties of every last acidic anger. 

The firebender brushes away the final tear from Mina’s cheek, then smiles, then rises. There are small, dotted stains darkening Sana’s robe like bruises. 

Mina watches her walk away, Sana not sparing a look back. 

“Are you going to tell Nayeon?” Mina’s voice is hoarse. It barely reaches further than the gardenia bush. 

“No.” Sana doesn't turn. “I’m going to go cry.” 

Momo tips her head back, breathing deeply. The beach air is still sick with smoke. 

Out on the horizon, the pirate’s ship is still burning on the black water. 

“It looks like the sun is setting,” Jihyo murmurs beside her. 

The last time Momo hurt someone was today. 

She closes her eyes. From the darkness, from the sudden blurs of color imprinted on the back of her eyelids, she shapes a face — the curve of a hairline, the distance to the brows, then the eyes and nose and lips. 

‘Please forgive me,’ Momo thinks to the face. ‘I made you another star.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at long last. polysci major chaeyoung and war paint librarian dahyun. i hope they were worth the wait!
> 
> this chapter makes me really really nervous lul
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> Nayeon and Mina re-evaluate the purpose of their political relationship. 
> 
> Jihyo and Chaeyoung investigate the plot against the Fire Nation. 
> 
> Sana makes a decision.


	8. out of body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some mild violence in this first section. it's more existential than gorey, but be warned

A poppy red flame bends against the wick of Jihyo’s thumb. 

“Southwest,” Tzuyu notes of the wind. 

“So we approach from the northeast.” Chaeyoung reaches up to twist her short hair into a messy topknot. “You two —” she indicates Momo and Tzuyu with a tilt of her head, “will stay up in the trees. Anything weird, any change in the wind, send a flare up. _Not_ a volcano.” 

Momo nods dutifully. 

“You ready?” 

Jihyo lets the flame breathe out into a thin line of smoke, pushing them all back under the humming darkness of the forest. 

It’s a new moon, the sky perfectly clouded with the fountainhead of a future storm.

Jihyo follows the warrior through the pines, out to where the trees thin to a tall, soft surf of grass. The fortress is there, a simple stone building that is apparently teeming with waterbenders. Pirates, Jihyo reminds herself. Enemies. 

This is the north-most point of the pirates’ progression up the Fire Nation strait. If they can take the fortress, it will at least secure a safe path back to the capital, as well as better protection for the dozen Kyoshi Warriors that are — Jihyo maintains this — not really supposed to be here. 

They crawl through the last few yards of grass. 

Chaeyoung places a hand on the jagged stone wall. From her belt, she loosens a grappling hook and spins it in tight, fast circles before casting it up to catch against the top of the wall.

Together, they ascend. The thin rope cuts harshly into Jihyo’s palms. 

“You ready,” the warrior grins from above.

“You don’t have to keep asking,” Jihyo grunts as she finally crests the wall. 

No one else is on the parapets, but there must be a guard or two patrolling somewhere. According to Dahyun, there were likely about a dozen armed mercenaries here. It wasn’t much, but Jihyo didn’t mind erring on the side of caution. 

What she did mind was having to take orders from this fresh-faced Kyoshi Warrior. 

Chaeyoung had banned bending, which was couched in practicalities about stealth, but it really just seemed to be an unnecessary handicap on the mission. 

Together they slot through the halls of the fortress, checking corners and pressing their ears against the doors for conversations or snores. 

“It seems empty,” Jihyo whispers after ten minutes of tiptoe-ing around. 

“It’s not.” 

They slip into the courtyard, carefully inching along the walls. The warrior’s hand shoots out, pressing Jihyo back. 

A figure moves at the edge of their vision, too far for one of Chaeyoung’s gadgets to reach. But perfect for a flame. 

Jihyo’s fists clench. 

“No bending,” the warrior hisses. 

The figure moves closer, ambling through the center of the courtyard.

Each breath is too loud. 

The night isn’t dark enough. 

“Fuck it,” Jihyo mutters, raising her arm to — 

Her muscles are slack, as heavy and useless and falling as sand in the wind. Her fingers sprain around a flame that isn’t there. Her mind has been severed from her body in a clean, nearly painless cut. Even the urge to scream, to call out for Momo or against all logic Jeongyeon, is a command her throat can’t fathom anymore. 

Her eyes are alone in understanding — the figure, his arms outstretched, tethered to her useless body with the strings of a thundering, unfamiliar heartbeat. 

Her eyes are alone in understanding the steel flash that rips through the courtyard.

Jihyo falls back into herself, panting, throat dry and rusted from the minute without air. 

Chaeyoung pulls her knife from the bloodbender’s chest and wipes it against her thigh. 

When she comes to Jihyo, steadying the admiral in her arms, her face is still contorted in disgust. 

Jihyo stifles her coughs and rasps against the fabric of Chaeyoung’s tunic. It takes a few minutes to tune her heartbeat back to its own rhythm. 

“Next time I’ll be the bait,” the warrior chuffs as she pulls the firebender back up. 

“Next time they won’t get the chance,” Jihyo pants. 

It takes an hour. Both Jihyo and Chaeyoung are bleeding from icicle cuts. The warrior’s wrist is bent at a sickly angle. Jihyo’s knee stings from a sprain. But the bloodbender count is finally at the predicted twelve. 

There’s only one room they haven’t entered, a locked door in the caverns below the fortress. 

Jihyo forces it open, not caring about the smoke that rushes from her skin. 

This place, like all the others, is dark. 

“Someone’s here,” Chaeyoung whispers. 

“How can you —” 

A candle lights, a sudden circle of orange expanding to fill some of the darkness. 

No, not a candle. A flame writhing in the hands of a woman. 

“Who the fuck —” 

The fire roars through the center of the room. Jihyo blocks it as best she can with her body, Chaeyoung cowering behind her. 

In the light, in the spread of straw that catches beneath their feet, Jihyo sees that the room is — well. It doesn’t make sense. Hundreds of cages line the walls of the cavern. In each, a messenger hawk’s eyes brighten with fear. 

The woman kicks out another few blasts, but she isn’t aiming for Jihyo and Chaeyoung. She’s trying to start a fire. 

It’s a trap. 

“It’s a —”

“I know,” Chaeyoung yells, stamping down uselessly on a flaming haystack. 

Jihyo ducks another barrage of attacks. Her leg sears with pain as she attempts to raise a kick to — 

A stone fist bolts through the screams of the messenger hawks, fitting itself to the throat of the firebending woman. 

“You’re a —”

“Help the birds,” Chaeyoung pleads, struggling to open a cage with her broken wrist. 

Jihyo nods and scrambles to unhook door after door. The messenger hawks, panicked, fly past her, past the fire, out and up into the night. 

When the heat finally becomes too much, she jogs back to Chaeyoung, slings the girl over her shoulder, and lugs their two broken bodies out on the same path as the birds, except —

They can’t. 

Her knee falters and they collapse into the wet grass in the courtyard. 

The fortress is engulfed. The faint shadows of the messenger hawks flit across the sky. 

“You can get out,” Jihyo pants rapidly. “You can but I’m — my leg is —” 

“I’ll carry you —”

“You can’t,” the admiral hisses. “That’s okay. You can’t. Just get —”

“I won’t —” The warrior’s face is young with fear. 

The flames rise. The heat stings Jihyo’s eyes. 

“Don’t,” she whispers. “We can’t both die.” 

The edges of the fire breathe in closer, angry and red and —

“You have to get out,” the admiral pleads, pushing the warrior away, “and send a letter to Jeongie, she's my—” 

The night is black again.

Still again. 

Smoke washes over the two cowering women, filling their lungs. 

Through the cloud laying over them, there’s a streak of white light. 

“A flare,” Chaeyoung coughs, laughing hideously through her choked lungs. 

It might be relief. It might be exhaustion. As Jihyo slips away, her eyes understand one final thing. Momo, standing on the parapet, her body glowing as the flames all gather into her skin. 

Every tree in the palace courtyard is stocked with screeching messenger hawks. 

Mina, on her way to the aviary, tucks the note for her father back into her robe. She’ll send it tomorrow. For now, she raises pearls of water from the fountain to the demanding beaks of the birds. 

Jeongyeon carefully steps around the papers spread like a sheet over the floor of the war room. 

She’s been up for hours, woken by a hesitant Mina at just past midnight. She’s spent that time laying the letters out in a rough pattern of events. 

The letters span from the last three months to just yesterday. All are begging for help. All are addressed to Nayeon. 

The Water Tribe girl — no, the Fire Lady — stands at the edge of the war room. 

“You can go back to bed,” Jeongyeon calls. She has every twenty minutes, like clockwork, reminded the girl that she doesn't have to be here. Mina always refuses gently.

“It’s too late. Or maybe too early now.” 

Sunlight has begun to filter in through the tall windows. 

“Should we wake Nayeon?” 

“No,” Jeongyeon sighs. She wants Nayeon to sleep, to have some peace before this gavel falls. She wants to protect her, even for just a few more precious minutes. 

Everyone takes the news differently. 

Jeongyeon, who has had as much time as Mina to adjust, seems the most steady. She is the one to bring it up at breakfast, after Nayeon and Sana have finished their meals. A smart move, because the Fire Lord’s reaction is a sickly, greenish hue to her face and a few desperate dry heaves into a napkin. 

Mina winces sympathetically through her surprise. She expected something skeptical, or angry, or maybe even cynical from Nayeon. Not grief. Not fear. 

Sana, who had already been stony and quiet throughout the meal, simply rises and wordlessly exits the dining room. 

Jeongyeon’s dark, tired eyes flit nervously between the crumpled Nayeon and closed door. 

“Go,” Mina whispers. “I’ll take care of her.” 

The diplomat hesitates. “Are you —” 

“Go,” Nayeon coughs. Her eyes are hazy. “She needs you most right now.” 

Jeongyeon nods and scrambles out. 

They’re left with an extra emptiness, a heaviness to the silence that Mina isn’t sure she actually knows how to strain away. She reaches across the table, pausing before the tips of her fingers can brush against Nayeon’s clenched fist. 

“I’m —”

“I need to read them,” Nayeon says steadily. 

“Jeongyeon said to wait for —” 

“They’re mine.” Her eyes rage. “They’re my people. Or they —” Her voice falters. “They were.” 

Sana sits on the balcony railing, her legs hanging freely out over the edge of the palace. When she was a kid, this felt like the edge of the earth. Unfortunately, it’s so much bigger. 

“I knew you’d be here.”

Of course it’s Jeongyeon. 

No smile can push through the anger, so Sana just pats the space beside her. When Jeongyeon lowers herself, she can’t help but push her face into the diplomat’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Jeongyeon murmurs, reaching around to fold Sana into a protective hug. “I know.” 

“How do you feel,” Sana asks, gripping Jeongyeon’s hands in her own. 

“Sad. Scared. But also, you know, selfishly I feel — they didn’t take Jihyo.” She takes a deep breath. “They didn’t take Momo. We can be thankful for —” 

“Thankful,” Sana shudders. 

“This isn’t Nayeon’s fault. She didn’t even know that—” 

Sana laughs. “Sometimes I forget you’re paid to make excuses for her.” 

The day is unfairly pretty. The sky is a crystalline blue, the clouds billowing in a gentle, deceitful breeze. Below them, sailboats filter in and out of the bay. 

“I didn’t come up here to make excuses,” Jeongyeon says slowly. Carefully. Sana almost laughs again at the delicacy. “But I also didn’t come up here to be a punching bag.” 

“Maybe that’s what I need,” Sana hums. “Though it would be useless. I’m angriest at myself for letting Momo go.” 

“You’d be angrier if you stopped her.” 

That’s true. Sana can give Jeongyeon that. She’s never wanted to shackle Momo to anything, even herself. If she did, that would just prove Momo’s fears — that the firebender was something that needed to be controlled, stifled. That she was something the world needed to be protected from. 

So she let her go. 

And Momo wasn’t protected from the world. 

“Jihyo is the same way,” Jeongyeon offers. “I could never talk her out of helping people.” 

“You’re the same way.” Sana pokes her friend’s side, trying to be playful. Trying to remember how to be playful. 

“I guess so.”

“Momo and I are different. Too different, sometimes. It’s — I can’t understand why she needs to —” Sana exhales shakily. “Why she needs to leave me.”

Sana tunes out Jeongyeon’s protests. She’s heard them all before. 

Instead, her mind drifts back to last night. 

Mina’s cold, clumsy lips on her own, her desperate grip, her heaving sobs. 

All for Nayeon. 

Sana can’t help the smirk that tears into her face now. 

Always Nayeon. 

She could have kissed Mina like the girl wanted. She could have reshaped her mouth in the impression of Nayeon’s lips. She’s done it before, with Momo. 

Did Momo ever know? Did she guess that, sometimes, Sana let herself be the ghost of a different person in their bed? 

Sana isn’t sure she wants to know that particular truth. 

If Momo did, and she ignored it, then maybe it’s because she wanted that ghost to stay, in whatever way she could.

If Momo didn’t know, then — it’s worse, almost. That Momo couldn’t tell when Sana replaced herself with their ex-lover. 

“She always comes back,” Jeongyeon is saying, almost breathless from whatever rant Sana had checked out of. 

“She does,” Sana agrees. “But one day, that might —”

“You can’t think like that.” Jeongyeon rubs her back in pleading circles. 

“Before we got here, Momo and I promised we wouldn’t get involved in whatever — well, we called it ‘whatever happens next.’ But now there’s going to be —”

“Don’t say a war. Please don’t say a war.” 

“Jeongie,” Sana sighs. 

“We can’t. Not again.” 

She loops her arms around her friend’s waist, finally reciprocating. “We won’t talk about it.” 

They lean against each other as the day continues to be stupidly, viciously beautiful. 

Mina stayed through it all. 

She watched from the corner of the war room as Nayeon crouched over each letter, reading the scratches of terror under her breath. 

She stayed for each impulsive tear, each curse and wail. 

Nayeon has never felt uglier, but the waterbender remains. 

When her advisors flood in and say, tactlessly, that maybe a foreigner shouldn’t be present for their meeting, Nayeon lets all her fear tunnel back into a comfortable, righteous rage. 

Mina stays for that, too. 

Mina gets her to eat a peckish lunch, to drink a few glasses of water. 

“Humans are mostly water,” she says. 

It’s the first time Nayeon has smiled all day. She instantly feels guilty, but then Mina’s eyes are so deep and still and happy Nayeon lets herself. She even laughs. 

As the sun sets, Nayeon finally parts from the girl. Despite everything, despite the comfort, she needs to be alone. She needs to cry and scream without worrying about how red and contorted her face must be. She needs to tuck all her fires away where they won’t hurt anyone. 

As her room darkens, Nayeon holds a letter from Dahyun and lets it burn away in her hands. It’s the letter that says she’s okay, that Tzuyu has arrived, that Jihyo and Momo are safe and triumphant and it’s no consolation. It’s just a testament to how late, how foolish she has been. All the while she was brooding and playing house, people were dying. People who thought she would protect them. People who —

There’s a knock at the door. 

“Not right now,” she calls. She hates her voice, the weakness, the syllables faltering into —

The door opens. 

Fucking guards. Never respecting the sanctity of —

“It’s just me.”

Mina. 

Mina, in her white nightgown, hands cradling a steaming mug. 

“I brewed you some chamomile,” the girl says, like it’s an apology. 

“Oh.” Nayeon restarts her heart. “Thank you.” 

They sit on the edge of her bed, Nayeon sipping carefully at the tea, Mina folded in on herself. 

“It’ll help you sleep,” she offers, as if she still needs an explanation. 

Nayeon wishes she didn’t. 

“Will you be okay?” 

“Yes,” Mina says automatically. “Of course. This isn’t really happening to — well, it’s — it’s harder for you.” 

Nayeon blows gently across the surface of the cup. “I’m not sure how to take that.” 

“I mean that this is happening to you, not really happening to me. I — I’m worried. But not about myself.” 

“Then I’ll have to be worried about you.” Nayeon smiles around the rim of the cup. 

“You shouldn’t,” the girl whispers. “They’re waterbenders like me.” 

“Mina.” Nayeon tries to keep her voice from being too strict, too commanding. She wants to be soft now. If she can remember how to be. “You didn’t hurt anyone. Honestly, you’re — we’re more alike. The distance between you and me is less than the distance between you and them.” 

Mina looks down at the bed. At the space between the edge of her dress and Nayeon’s thigh. 

Nayeon lays her hand between them, palm up, fingers spread. She searches Mina’s eyes for disgust, for confusion. Or maybe — maybe excitement? Or calm? Or a simple happiness for such a simple offer? 

Instead, it’s fear. 

Nayeon’s heart bucks against her ribs. She sags against herself, pulling her hand back across the covers. 

Of course. This is all she has. A hostage for a wife. Her own self-hating organs. The only comfort on her skin is the half hug she wraps around herself, not caring. It’s pathetic. It’s pathetic to hold herself, and it’s pathetic to not care that this girl is watching, and it’s pathetic to — 

Mina stands abruptly. 

Nayeon can’t help but laugh bitterly. Of course. Why would she stay to watch this? Why wouldn’t she run, seeing the truth of — 

“Nayeon, I —,” Mina whispers. “I want to take this away.” She takes a deep breath and comes closer. Miraculously closer. Her hands hover awkwardly between their bodies, as if she’s about to cup Nayeon’s face or kiss her or sink to her knees and — “Tell me. Tell me how.” 

Nayeon’s whole body shakes with the force of her heartbeat. 

She reaches up, taking Mina’s wrists, shackling their bodies together. Mina’s fingertips brush against her cheeks, bump against her ears. It’s clumsy and silly and — 

“We don’t have to,” Nayeon forces from her throat. Something in her screams against the words, demands that she take whatever this girl will give her. Take everything.

Then leave. 

“Nayeonie,” Mina whispers, dropping a too-quick kiss to her forehead. Nayeon’s skin burns at the ghost left of her lips. 

“Just — will you stay?” 

‘No,’ the fire cries. ‘Take more than that.’ 

“Okay.” 

Nayeon carefully slides under the covers, lifting them so Mina can join her. When she rests back against the pillow, the Fire Lord burrows deeper, away, so that their skin isn’t in danger of touching. 

When she closes her eyes, when a dream she doesn’t deserve begins to dawn behind her eyes, there’s a cool, small hand laid on the small of her back. 

The docks are nearly empty at this time of night. Only the distant shouts from the city, the bumps of ship hulls against wood. 

Momo sighs dramatically with relief when her feet hit dry land. 

For the trip back from the straits, Jihyo hadn’t wanted to waste any time. The result was, of course, a constant seasickness. But now it was all okay. They're home. 

Momo throws her arms around the admiral, planting a wet kiss on her cheek.

“Save it for Sana,” Jihyo laughs, pushing her away gently and then rubbing at her face with a shirt-sleeve. 

“You want me to give her one from you?” 

Momo taps her cheek and pouts. Her face peels in a smile when Jihyo brushes her lips there. 

The palace is, as always, dark and lonely. The guards greet them with tired bows. 

While Jihyo goes straight to her room, Momo swerves to pick up a few scraps from the kitchen. She munches happily, at last able to hold something down. 

When she finally, quietly opens the door to Sana’s room, the bed is empty. 

Momo peeks into the bathroom, then down the hall. 

She thinks of going to the gardens, to the balcony where Sana sometimes stargazes, but a new wave of tiredness tugs at her muscles. 

It’ll be okay. Sana will be there in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really had fun writing this one:-) 
> 
> also. big announcement. i made a twitter basically because i want curiouscat basically because i'm gonna need some motivation for the next few chapters. i hope that isn't too presumptuous, but if it is send me hatemail @ twitter.com/sawah2129
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading! i know my pace is slowing down, but honestly that might be a blessing in disguise 
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Jihyo does more stress squats. 
> 
> Mina and Nayeon ride their own personal carousels of guilt and excitement. 
> 
> Momo reflects.


	9. circadian rhythms

Jihyo wakes, chest heaving, mouth dry. 

Her body twists in the phantom pain of the dream, that dream of a body that was barely her own. The slack muscles. The unmoving blood. 

As a soldier, Jihyo had always thought she had been accustomed to pain and fear and maybe even had an sort of general acceptance of death. It was at least the one thing the world was guaranteed to give you. 

But dying was supposed to be mindless. It was supposed to rejoice the tension of lungs straining and a heart trying and a mind panicking for escape, all with one last helpless burst of adrenaline. 

When that bender hooked her blood in her own veins, when her organs started to tear themselves — there wasn’t any peace in that, any natural order to respect and surrender to. 

Jihyo runs her hands over her shoulders, her legs, then knits her own fingers together to squeeze harshly. 

Back during the war, sometimes her only comfort was her own fist. Starving, cut and burned, she knew that if she could just do this — just make a fist — she could survive whatever was next. 

Beside her Jeongyeon turns over, still mumbling through her own dream. Hopefully a better one. 

Nayeon curls in on herself, seeking the heat of her own skin in a snowdrift of cold sheets. 

Mina must have left at some point during the night. 

That’s a small mercy, to be spared from the stifling routine of a morning after. Even after something as innocent as sharing a wide bed. 

Nayeon traces her tongue over her teeth. Her mouth is sour with sleep. 

She can’t imagine a Mina with bad breath, or unkempt hair, or dream-torn eyes. 

It’s silly, but the girl doesn’t seem exactly human all the time. Her hair is always smooth and shining, and her reactions always measured, veering on too polite. It’s as if Mina has designed herself to be as small, as unobtrusive as possible. 

Nayeon breathes heat into her fingers, about to close her eyes and cling to a few minutes of sleep, when the bathroom door hesitantly creaks open. 

It’s Mina, hair spun up in a towel. A coat hangs heavy around her shoulders, over her nightdress. Her eyes are wide, like she’s been caught doing something far worse than being in Nayeon’s bedroom. 

“Did I —”

“No, no, I was up,” Nayeon croaks. 

See. How ugly. 

“Did you sleep well,” Mina asks, reaching to pull the coat tighter around herself. 

“Yeah.” Nayeon clears her throat. “Usually I can’t sleep when other people are — you know. Here. With me.” 

Something changes in Mina’s face. Like she was struck. 

“Not that that’s what —” Nayeon tries. “I didn’t even notice you.” 

“Ah. I’m glad.” 

Here’s that awkward conversation. Here’s the ridiculous weight of the night before, as if —

“This is stupid.” Nayeon takes a deep breath. “I meant that I’m happy you’re here. I’m not used to that, even if it was —” She wracks her brain for the right word. The word that will soothe whatever worry is creasing Mina’s brow. “Platonic.” 

Yes. Good. That’s it. A friendly and childish few hours, not unlike the times she and Jeongyeon would stay up and talk for hours at the academy before they would collapse beside each other on a narrow bunkbed. 

Mina leans over to towel off her wet hair. Each droplet sparks with sunlight, like fire raining down. 

Nayeon chews her tongue, letting herself look. It isn’t often that the waterbender’s eyes aren’t magneted to her own, and this — the smooth slope of her jawline, the heat-flushed skin, her thin wrists — this is worth it. 

“Did you sleep well?”

That’s polite. It’s a minute too late, but polite. It should still count. 

“Yes.” Mina smiles. “You’re warm.” 

Momo groans into her pillow, trying to burrow away from the sunlight slicing across the room as Sana tugs the curtains open.

“Ten more minutes,” Momo whines into the cool sheets.

She waits for the kiss to her shoulder. For the hand that will run through her hair. 

“Breakfast is almost over,” Sana huffs. 

No. Not Sana.

Momo peeks past her arm. In the blurry light, Jeongyeon is yanking the covers off.

“You’re naked,” Jeongyeon frowns, not letting up her grip as Momo tries to seize them back around herself.

“It’s healthy.”

“It’s healthy,” Jeongyeon gives one final tug, “to eat breakfast.” 

Momo rolls over. “I like how Sana wakes me up better.” 

“I’m sure.” Jeongyeon tosses a robe over the bed. “Where is she, by the way?”

Momo slips her arms into the sleeves. “Isn’t she at breakfast?”

“Nope. I thought she’d be with you.”

“Oh.” Momo knots the tie of the robe around her waist.

Sana must have gone into the city, maybe for flowers or some little welcome back gift. Or maybe she had headed down to the library to research bloodbending. Something like that. 

Jihyo paces over the ocean, her boots squealing slightly at each pivot against the shore of the Earth Kingdom. 

The silence in the war room is solid. 

It’s funny, in a room so steeped in power — Nayeon, the Fire Lord; Momo, the prodigy — that Jihyo is the one with the greatest intensity, even in total silence. 

Jeongyeon sits beside Mina, a brush poised over a nearly blank piece of paper. At the top, she has titled it ‘The Big Deal.’ Mina can appreciate whatever little sliver of cheekiness she can get in the tense room, but her giggle is either ignored — Jihyo and Nayeon — or glared at — Momo, surprisingly. Jeongyeon, thankfully, shoots her a sly smile. 

“So this is the extent of what we know.” Jihyo crosses her arms. “In the last three months, a conglomerate of waterbenders, who may or may not be funded by the Southern Water Tribe, have attacked the Fire Nation strait. They had at least one firebending ally, who is now in custody.” 

“I’m guessing she won’t talk.” Jeongyeon’s brush works furiously over the parchment. 

“She will,” Momo mutters. 

“The Kyoshi Warriors have possession of her, so any information they get will be sent here immediately.”

Mina chews her lip at the unfamiliar term. 

“They’re a cult,” Jeongyeon whispers, a little too loud. 

“They’re nice,” Momo defends, her dark eyes flicking harshly. 

“They’re trustworthy.” Jihyo takes a deep breath to recenter herself. “There are only about a dozen Kyoshi Warriors, but they’re holding a fortress that Momo recaptured.” 

“We both did,” Momo grumbles with an affectionate pout. The admiral finally softens. 

“Right, great,” Nayeon cuts in. “But what exactly is this conspiracy theory that the Southern Water Tribe is involved?” 

“Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that we were just dealing with Tribe-funded pirates in the North, and now they’re in the South?” 

“It _is_ suspicious, which is why I called it a conspiracy theory. You don’t have any evidence.” 

Jihyo’s eyebrows raise in a challenge. Mina feels the sudden, stupid urge to put herself between the admiral and the Fire Lord. 

But, as always, thankfully, there is Jeongyeon. “Nayeon has a point,” the diplomat says. “We can’t start a war based on assumptions.” 

“There’s already a war.” Jihyo’s voice is quieter, but it still carries a severity. “We just didn’t know about it.”

“Let’s not throw ‘war’ around like it’s —”

“You’re going to have to send a fleet, Nayeon.” 

“We don’t have enough information—”

“We have exactly enough information.” There’s something different about Jihyo, Mina thinks. A fear that doesn’t suit her. “You should be angrier.” 

“Right, because Fire Lords are notorious for making rational decisions when they’re angry.” Nayeon sears. 

Mina bites down on her tongue, ready for the barrage.

“I am angry. You want me to set something on fire? Or yell? I want to annihilate them.” Nayeon now trembles. Sympathetically, Mina shudders too. “I want to make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

There’s a tether between Jihyo’s pulse and Nayeon’s. Mina feels the same sickly twist she had with Sana and Momo once. The sense that no one else belongs in this room. There’s some bond she can’t understand, as thick and righteous as blood, between the admiral and the Fire Lord. 

She glances to Jeongyeon to check on her assessment of this exchange, to see if her discomfort is shared. But Jeongyeon’s eyes shine too with a nostalgic comfort as she watches as Nayeon rushes to cradle Jihyo against her chest. 

Mina turns to Momo. The firebender’s eyes are unfocused, flung off into space. 

And Sana — no. Sana isn’t here. 

Mina lets herself back into her own body, retracting from the tangles and thorns of the women whispering to each other. She’s left with only the faintness of her own heartbeat. It isn’t loud enough to cover the sickness and the rage. On the war room’s map of the strait, there are tiles adorned with the Water Tribe crest. It’s the same as the symbol tucked beneath her dress, too cold and heavy against her chest. 

The war room door slams shut. 

Mina winces as Nayeon and Jihyo slip out of their hug. 

Momo is gone. 

“The way I see it, we have three options,” Jeongyeon starts smoothly. “Option one, you send me to the Southern Water Tribe to negotiate a trade deal.”

“That will take two months at least,” Jihyo sighs. 

“And you might find out you have another wife.” 

Nayeon barks with a sudden, harsh laugh. 

Jeongyeon grins. “Thanks. Option two, we send a fleet.”

“Which will be costly, and perhaps not as effective as we hope if the Water Tribe is behind this.” 

“I feel like you two have been conspiring,” the Fire Lord scoffs affectionately. 

“Option three, Momo.” 

“Not without Sana.” 

“This is the same as last time,” Jeongyeon tries. “Whoever’s side Momo is on, that’s the side that wins.” 

Nayeon shifts uncomfortably in her seat. 

“You haven’t seen what they can do.” Jihyo runs a hand through her hair. “Or felt it.” 

“This might not mean much to you, but I made some promises to Sana. The main one being that Momo won't be a weapon.”

“She isn’t a pet, either.” 

Mina’s chest tightens as she feels Nayeon’s lungs constrict around a harsh inhale. 

“I won’t stop her from going after Sana,” the Fire Lord says slowly, her wide, dark eyes flicking between the admiral and the diplomat. “You two might see this as a repeat of the war, but it won’t be. We aren’t going to make the same mistakes just because we happened to win last time.” 

Jihyo and Jeongyeon nod curtly. 

“You’re dismissed.” 

Mina quickly rises from her chair, making for the door, to escape the —

“Mina. You can stay.” 

The Fire Lord slumps against one of the tables, offering a small, apologetic smile. “I don’t exactly want to be alone right now. But if you need to be I understand.” 

“No,” Mina rushes. “Not at all.” 

There are other confessions to make. But not now, with this map of the world and its pain spread out between them. 

“Do you have a fourth option? One where I don’t send people I care about off to die?”

Mina pulls at her own fingers. “Is Momo really that — that powerful?” 

“You want to hear a story?” Nayeon smiles, not actually waiting for an answer. “I don’t know if you remember, but Momo was from this little village. It was a beautiful place, one of those forests that’s just so green it — it _hurts_ to look at it. During the war, the rebels had a fortress there. Momo’s whole village, all the people she grew up with, her family, they had all joined the enemy.” Nayeon crouches down to indicate a jagged line of mountains on the Fire Nation mainland. “Sana begged me not to attack there, but it wasn’t my decision. My uncle sent battalion after battalion, but the rebels always had the high ground. There was no way to reach the fortress. My uncle was frustrated, so he finally sent Momo off. Sana and I went too. I think Sana — I think Sana was going to get Momo to run away with her before we could get to the village, but Momo didn’t...well, she didn’t care. We postponed the attack because it was raining. That night, Momo went alone to hike up the mountain. She knew it like the back of her hand. And then she burned the whole forest.”

Mina tries to imagine this meek, spacey girl standing in a furnace of burning trees. The deer flushing from the smoking underbrush, the sky stained with smoke. It doesn’t fit. 

“In a matter of minutes — just _minutes_ Mina, for a acres that would have taken days to burn — the fire reached the fortress. All the rebels had to choose. Would they run, and be captured by the battalion, or would they stay and burn?”

A shadow crosses over Nayeon’s face. “I believe Momo thought they would run. But they didn’t. The fortress went up in flames.” 

Mina tries to calm the painful, rabbit-fast beats in her chest. 

“Now, this might not be common knowledge, but firebenders have a tricky problem where we can’t exactly put fires out. When something like a forest starts to burn, we’re basically useless. But Momo is uniquely — well. I’ll just tell you. So the fortress is on fire, the people are screaming and crying but not surrendering, and so Momo — who's still deep in the burning forest — takes all the flames back into herself. This night that was on fire is suddenly just black again.” A sad smile twists Nayeon’s lips. “And then we won.” 

“If Momo would do that to — to her own village, why do you think she won’t stay and fight for you now?” 

“Because Sana isn’t waiting for her this time. She really could not have picked a more inconvenient time to desert me.” 

“I was under the impression,” Mina swallows, trying to re-center herself. “I thought Momo loved both of you.” 

Nayeon laughs harshly, crouching down over the map. She taps against the blue paint on the ocean. “If you think about the heart like a sea, you can say that Momo loves me. I account for some drops of water, maybe some currents. But the ocean itself is really Sana.” 

“That’s quite sentimental.” Mina tries to muster a smile. 

Nayeon’s is real though. A full-faced grin. “Does that shock you?” 

Mina’s heart opens like the mouth of a river feeding itself to the sea. 

In the pinkish collage of sunset, Momo stalks through the halls of the palace. 

She’s checked every room, asked every guard. Sana is gone. And no one cares. 

Jihyo and Jeongyeon had expressed some sort of worry, but Momo knows why. They’re just concerned about how she’ll cope without her handler. 

Only Nayeon is left to interrogate, and so Momo rounds the corner with a huff, flames threading in her veins, when —

Ah. Mina. 

The Water Tribe girl is standing, eyes wide, with her fist poised to knock at Nayeon’s closed door. In her other hand, she cradles a steaming mug. 

“Hi,” Momo tries, awkwardness rushing in to replace the adrenaline. She had never exactly addressed Mina, and now it felt like the time for introductions was past. 

“Oh. Hello,” Mina squeaks. She raises the mug. “This is, uh, tea. Not poison.” 

Momo laughs in surprise. 

“Everyone seems a little suspicious of me,” the girl mutters. 

“Oh. Well. If it’s worth something, I’m not.” 

“It is.” She really is so pretty. “I wanted to say I’m — I’m sorry. About Sana leaving.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Momo offers a weak, closed-mouth smile. 

Mina nods stiffly. 

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I really need to talk to Nayeon.” 

“Oh. Yes. Of course. I’ll make myself busy elsewhere.” With that, the girl quickly turns and retreats. 

Momo sighs, leaning her head against the door once she knows she’s alone. Usually it’s exciting, easy to be around Nayeon. But there will be an argument, she’s sure. And Sana isn’t here to help. 

But Sana would want her to be brave. 

She knocks.

Nayeon’s face lights up instantly when she opens the door, throwing her arms around Momo’s shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” the Fire Lord whispers into her neck. “I’m feeling a little giddy.” 

Oh. 

“Go ahead,” Nayeon says, leaning back. Her eyes are still cut into crescents. “Ruin my mood.” 

Momo crosses her arms protectively over her chest. “I need to know what happened with Sana.” 

“Are you accusing me of something?” 

Nayeon is still smirking. 

“Sana was here. I left. Now she’s gone. You know how — how wrong that is.” 

“Sana was pissed I put you in a situation where you were in danger. She’s just blowing off some steam.” Nayeon softens. “You know she’ll come back.” 

Momo inhales, trying to flush her lungs with clean air. “I want to fight for you. But I need to know that — that she’s okay.” 

Nayeon reaches to entwine their fingers. It’s comforting. Not exciting. Not like it used to be. “Momo, I’m sorry but — we don’t have time to look. She might not want to be found right now.” 

“You don’t know her like I do.” Momo winces at her own harshness. “What I mean is, this might be — she might be waiting for me somewhere. This might be a test.” 

“A test?” Nayeon scoffs. “Maybe you two do need some space. This is codependency at its finest.” 

“Don’t,” Momo almost whimpers. “Don’t be mean right now.” 

“I’m sorry, Momo, but think about this. Sana _left_. She has a reason for it. Maybe she decided it’s finally time that you two learn how to be alone.” 

“But people don’t learn anything from being alone.” Momo hates that she’s pleading with someone who should care, who should understand better than anyone else what Sana is. What Sana does.

“They do, Momo. You just never tried.” 

“All I learned from being alone was how to hate myself.” The heat is too much. “And Sana — Sana taught me that I was worthy of more. You taught me that too. But now Sana is alone, and what if she’s teaching herself how to hate —” 

“Okay. Okay.” Nayeon pulls her robe tighter around herself. “But if you can’t be alone and not hate yourself, then what's the point of being with someone? You and Sana both carry that strength of being loved into every fucking room you’re in. And —” She falters. Momo wants to reach out. But she won’t. Not anymore. “And all I learned from being with you two was that there are rifts I can’t cross. Being with you didn’t prepare me for — for being alone again.” 

Momo is about to offer something she is capable of, some word of comfort, like —

“I’m really sorry,” Nayeon whispers. “But I need you to stay with me instead of Sana. Just this once.” 

Momo could hate her. A rage at the injustice of this false choice sweats through Momo’s veins. She thinks of a face. The one true face. 

“I’m angry,” Momo seals herself in the temporary peace of her closed eyes. “And in the morning, I’ll forgive you.” 

That’s how it always was.

“That’s how it always was,” Nayeon whispers. 

Jihyo spins a white lotus tile idly between her fingers, smirking at the guard who just, once again, lost pathetically. 

“Another round?” 

“No, ma'am” he laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat. 

“Thought so.” 

Jihyo sweeps the board clean and leans back to crack her knuckles. She scans the courtyard for any new victims. All the guards avoid her eyeline, but then there is Mina. 

Jihyo calls her over, indicating the cushion across the board. “One game?” 

Mina looks down morosely at the mug she’s holding. “Yes. Okay.”

“Tea?” Jihyo resets the board. 

“Yes. It was for Nayeon, but I think she and Momo are still talking.” 

Jihyo nods. That’s good. Nayeon could figure something out. There was always a possibility that Momo and Nayeon, maybe Sana too, could get through their differences. Honestly, it would be a relief. It’s a sick weapon to depend on, but it was helpful during the last war. 

They begin the game. The pace is fast — Mina makes decisions quickly, and Jihyo plays recklessly. She has the white lotus tile tucked in her sleeve, after all. 

“I wanted to ask you something before we blaze through this game.” Jihyo takes a prepatory breath. “On the ship, you told me that bloodbending is a story to scare children. Why did you lie?” 

Something about Mina opens up. Her eyes are so deep and dark. “I didn’t lie,” she says softly. 

“It happened to me,” Jihyo says, trying to be casual even as the ghost of pain aches over her chest. 

“That’s not — I’m sorry. I didn’t —” Mina wraps her arms around herself. “I — what did it feel like?” 

“There’s nothing I can really compare it to,” Jihyo sighs, laying down another tile. “It was like I was dying, but I couldn’t get — get to the edge of it, you know? Like I was stuck and stupid and I would never be able to leave my body, even after it had...left me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Mina whispers, looking down at the mug again. 

“It’s okay. It’s not like it was you who did it.” Jihyo chews her lip. “But — I mean, you can do it, can’t you?” 

“Why would I —”

“I mean you’re capable of bloodbending.” This girl might be another Momo. Jihyo smiles. “That could be valuable in the future.” 

“That’s sick.” There’s a newness to the girl now. A hardness. “How could I ever —” 

“Not even to protect someone you care about?” 

Mina lays down her last tile. “No.” 

Jihyo counters with her white lotus to win the game. “Sorry about that.” 

“It’s fine.” Mina stands, still careful with her mug. “You cheated.” 

Nayeon is saved from her latest near-brush with sleep by a knock at the door. 

“I swear,” she yells, “I cannot take one more —” 

“It’s Mina.” Even when she calls, the girl’s voice is too soft. 

“Oh.” Nayeon snaps up, trying to smooth her hair down as the door creaks open. “Hey.”

“I brought you this,” Mina says apologetically, raising a white mug. “But it’s cold now.” 

“That’s okay.” Nayeon shifts so she can sit on the edge of her bed, Mina walking to join her. “I can warm it up.”

Nayeon holds the cup in her hands, raising the temperature of her skin until the tea begins to steam. Mina smiles down when the warmth rises enough to brush against her cheeks.

“It doesn’t take much to impress you.” Nayeon smiles around the rim, taking a sip. 

“Maybe not.” Mina sits down on the bed, leaving space between their legs. “How did it go with Momo?” 

“Not great.” 

“You couldn’t seduce her?” 

Nayeon spits her mouthful of tea back into the mug. Mina laughs, her hand coming up to pat gently at the Fire Lord’s back. 

“Don’t joke about that,” Nayeon pants when she’s mostly recovered. “I have a wife.” 

Mina’s face peels into a helpless smile. Some ache flickers in Nayeon’s chest, like it had last night. 

Oh. 

“I wanted to talk about yesterday night.” Nayeon hopes her voice is as smooth as it is in her head. “I was sort of, uh, sad. But I don’t want you to just think of me as this volatile thing that’s either begging for you to stay or screaming at my friends.”

“You didn’t scream." 

“Well, semantics aside, I don’t want you to feel obligated to stick around for my outbursts, regardless of their nature.” 

“Is that what you — what you think this is?” The girl’s eyes are trained on the now almost empty mug. 

“You had no choice in marrying me,” Nayeon says carefully. It seems like this conversation is laden with traps she might not be able to identify before falling in. “But you do have a choice about what happens now. I was thinking, actually, that you could have the palace on Ember Island to yourself, if you’d like. It’s by the ocean, and you’d be able to have space.”

“Okay.” 

Oh. 

Of course. 

Give someone an out and they’ll take it. 

Nayeon should have known that this girl, this prisoner, would want to leave as soon as she could. 

But that doesn’t explain the twist in her gut, the sudden sweat on her palms, as Mina rises to leave and never — 

“Actually.” Mina turns. She’s trembling. “No. I don’t want to go.” 

“Oh.” Nayeon feels disastrously weak, disastrously transparent. Like this girl has peered past the helpful trappings of skin and bone to see within her, where her organs are all rejoicing in an anticipation that —

“I want to stay with you,” Mina continues, her whole body shaking though her voice is steady. “If you’ll have me.” 

“That sounds like a proposal,” Nayeon says wetly, desperate for some levity. Some thunder brandishes in her chest. 

“It is.” 

“Okay,” Nayeon whispers, not even sure Mina could hear. She sets the mug down on the table beside the bed, then spreads the covers, holding open the spot beside her. 

Mina lowers herself down, nestling into the pillows, faced away. 

Nayeon intends to follow suit, to turn so they have their backs to each other, but again — the opportunity to look. The slips of bare skin on the girl’s shoulders. Her dark hair illuminated in moonlight and the last sighs of the fireplace. The gentle rise and fall of the sloped horizon of Mina’s silhouette as she breathes herself into sleep. 

“Will you —” Nayeon swallows thickly. “Put your hand on my back? Like last night?” 

Mina turns. Her eyes are hazy but still bright. 

“Goodnight, Nayeonie,” the girl whispers as she lays a cold hand on the small of Nayeon’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it! i know this one was pretty wordy/conversation-based, so i hope they were mostly compelling and/or illuminating 
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> Mina makes more jokes.
> 
> The new war begins.


	10. shaking the habitual [M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some mature sexual content. please don't just read that part LUL

Mina rolls her letter into a leather canister, then ties it to the waiting messenger hawk’s scaled leg. It lifts from the post, up into the heavy grey of the sky. 

Momo is sitting on the ground beneath a wide, jagged sycamore tree. She rips blades of grass from the ground, then holds them between her fingers as they gently smolder away. 

“Waiting for Sana?” 

Momo looks up, eyes wide in surprise. Then, always slow, almost hesitant, she smiles. “Yeah.”

In the last week, Sana had written to Momo every day. She was apparently safe, though she wouldn’t say where. That was all Momo shared with anyone. At dinner each night, the firebender ignored conversation and instead hunched over a piece of parchment, manically jotting down what must be every detail of the day for her own letter — a letter she wouldn’t be able to send, since Sana never gave a location, never gave Momo a chance. 

Other things had changed. Nayeon decided to send Jihyo and a slim amount of soldiers down south to join up with the Kyoshi Warriors. Momo and Nayeon had made a compromise that she would stay in the palace so she could continue to receive Sana’s letters. But in the event of some disaster, Momo would be ready to join Jihyo on the straits. 

The truly thrilling development, though, was Nayeon. It was now nine days of sharing a bed. Mina couldn't help counting. Every night, with the natural magnetism of the tide washing up the beach, they would slide into bed beside each other. There were fantastic variations, though. Sometimes Nayeon would request the hand on her back — either with a gentle, prying whine, or with the roughness of an order. Sometimes Nayeon would be the one to touch her, though, placing a hand over the bumps of Mina’s spine, and the warmth would flood through her body as if she was empty just for this purpose, meant to be filled by—

There are also disappointments. Mina tries not to count those. 

Despite the new level of closeness, there was only that. Yes, sometimes Nayeon would brush their palms together, but it always seemed to be an accident. Nayeon once leaned her head on Mina’s shoulder at breakfast, but the second Jeongyeon had trudged in the Fire Lord sat straight up again. 

“Mina.” Momo is looking up quizzically. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, of course.” Mina shifts awkwardly. “Just thinking.” 

The firebender nods. “Me too.” She holds up a thread of grass, letting it burn down from the tip to the edge of her fingers before dropping it to a pile of ash in front of her legs. 

“Nayeon told me about your, uh, talent.” Mina has been making an effort with Momo, but it’s been fruitless so far. Jeongyeon is easy to get along with, but Momo always seems to be focused on something in her own head. Usually she responds to questions with a polite hum, or, if it’s Nayeon and Jeongyeon, a cutting smirk. 

“Oh.” Momo looks down at her hands. “Do you want to see it?” 

“I do.” 

The other woman beams, placing her hand flat against the sycamore’s trunk. “Do you think anyone cares about this tree?” 

“It’s —” 

Every inch of white bark is serrated with fire. The leaves burn quickest, ash falling down around Momo like rain. Mina’s eyes sting with the headiness of the smoke as it hurries up into the storm-sick sky. 

It’s nothing like the thumb-thick flames Jeongyeon presses to candle wicks.

It’s nothing like the charming giggles of fire that spun up Sana’s arms. 

It’s nothing like ice melting in Nayeon’s mouth. 

It’s ugly and angry and it hurts just to hold it in her eyes. 

But then, the fire unfurls, back into Momo’s waiting hand. She cups a small inferno, before it sinks into the skin of her palm. 

The tree, however, is still black. Still seeping with smoke. 

“I know.” Momo’s eyes are less bright now. The smile is still on her face, though it’s empty. An afterimage, like a long shadow at sundown. “It’s not pretty.” 

“No, it’s —” 

“I kinda wanna tell you something.” Momo sighs. “Just because I want to talk about her.” 

Smoke wafts across the garden. Mina resists the urge to pull the fabric of her robe up to cover her nose.

“It might sound really silly to you, but when I say I need Sana I don’t just mean —” Momo gulps. “That I want her around. It’s more that I have this little thing I do when I need to stop. I close my eyes, and —” Momo demonstrates, turning her face up to where the sun would be on any other day. It’s so innocent Mina almost gasps. “I just try to replace the fire with her. Then I can — then I can let it back inside.” Momo finishes with a serene smile. “That’s really creepy, isn’t it?”

“No.” Mina says, almost wincing at the defensive fervor in her own voice. “It’s not.” 

“A lot of people think firebending is about rechanneling anger, but I really —” Momo laughs lightly. “I’m not angry about anything.” 

“What do you think you’re rechanneling then?” 

A hawk lands on one of the black branches. 

“Something worse.” 

Momo drums her fingers against the top of the desk, looking down at a blank spread of parchment. 

Every day it got a little harder to write a letter. 

Not that Sana would get them. She hadn’t left any clues to her location, but Momo assumed there might be some karmic weight in matching each letter with one of her own. 

But there were really only so many ways to say ‘I miss you.’ 

Heavy sheets of rain rail against the window. 

Sana would want to know that. She never minded bad weather. On the island, they would spend days like that in bed and —

‘I miss you,’ Momo writes at the top of the paper. 

If Nayeon is right and this is some experiment in independence, Momo knows she should have something else to say. Something about how she’s been doing well, and practicing, and that she’s worried about the war, and that really she can represent a full, rich inner-life even without the constant salve of Sana’s attention. 

‘I’m trying not to,’ Momo writes. 

She jots down Jeongyeon’s latest complaints, and how Mina taught her how to beat Jihyo at pai sho, and about Nayeon’s recent good mood. It was nice to see. 

When Momo met Nayeon, she had been terrifying and bright. Her attention was exact and absolute, like being in the tight beam of a lighthouse before it turns away. But the war had worn so much of that away, frayed her into — 

‘I think Nayeon doesn’t need me anymore.’ 

White light snaps against the window. 

Then, thunder. 

‘When did you stop?’ 

Nayeon wakes with a start, her hand coming out to clench the pillow. 

Mina, beside her, quickly turns over to search Nayeon’s face for pain. 

“Sorry,” the Fire Lord laughs, eyes downcast. “I think the —”

Another whiplash of thunder shakes the windows of the bedroom. 

“I really hate this,” Nayeon groans, pushing her face into the covers. “I’m such a joke. A firebender afraid of a little —”

White, perfect light flashes through the room. 

“Did I wake you?” 

Mina nods, rubbing at her eyes. “Your heartbeat it — it’s loud.” 

“Sorry about that.” Nayeon kicks herself out from under the covers, going to crouch over the fireplace and light it with her palms. She stares into the orange and the red and the blue, trying to recenter herself with the warmth.“I probably won’t be able to sleep again until this has passed over.” 

“That’s okay.” Mina frees herself from the covers, padding over to sit down near the fireplace too. “We didn’t really get a chance to talk today.” 

They had spent most of the day in military meetings, debating with advisors about a war they can barely afford. 

“Did you miss me?” Nayeon intends for this to sound a little cocky, so Mina will scoff and disengage and go back to bed. But she’s too weak right now, and her voice is careful and hopeful and Mina’s eyes go impossibly wider. 

“Yes,” she says earnestly, hugging her knees to her chest. “Yes, of course.” 

“Can you still, uh, feel it?” Nayeon presses two fingers to her throat.

Mina smiles, placing her hand on the carpet. She taps in quick, perfectly matched beats to the throb of blood Nayeon feels beneath her skin.

“What else can you feel?” 

“The rain washing down the rivets of the roof.” Mina hums. “The water threaded through that plant.” She inclines her head toward the potted yucca in the corner of the room. 

“That’s overwhelming.” There’s something lucky about fire, that it lives for such a short time. The water, the earth, the air are always there, independent of any creator. “How do you sleep?”

“I tune it out.” 

“But not my heartbeat.” Nayeon means for a tease, but again, her voice falters into something truer. 

“No.” Mina smiles, leaning so their shoulders bump together. “It’s usually soothing.” 

Another onslaught of light and sound. 

Nayeon can’t help but twist her hand in the fabric of Mina’s shirt, trying to ground herself to something firmer than flames. 

That was an unlucky thing about fire. It was rarely a real comfort. It was warmth with no softness. 

But Mina — 

Mina smooths her thumbs over the bumps of Nayeon’s knuckles. 

“This is really pathetic.”

“It is,” Mina smiles gently. 

It’s hard to square all the information gathered in the last week. On one hand, there was the war, marred in conspiracy theories and the existential threat of bloodbending pirates. 

Mina had been a nice distraction. They had fallen into an easy rhythm, sharing most of their time together. 

Nayeon imagined having a conversation with Jeongyeon about it. She would never dare, of course, but she liked sketching it out in her head. Jeongyeon would probably look confused — ‘you sleep together but you don’t _sleep_ together.’ 

And Nayeon imagines retorting that there’s nothing wrong with that, to which fantasy Jeongyeon would say ‘but what does Mina think?’ And that is where the conversation always ends, because Nayeon doesn’t know. 

“You’re fast again,” Mina murmurs, eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“I’m fine.” Nayeon releases her hold on the silk of Mina’s shirt, retracting into herself again in front of the fire. 

“If you ever want me to tune you out, I can —”

“No.” 

Nayeon stiffens.

That was sudden. 

And harsh.

And impossible to explain. 

“I wish,” she tries. “I wish I could feel yours too.” 

“You can,” Mina whispers. She carefully lifts Nayeon’s hand by the wrist, inclining her neck so the Fire Lord can press the pads of two fingers against the side of her throat. 

Her pulse is impossibly fast, fluttering like the wings of a songbird beneath her skin. 

With a dread, a sick excitement Nayeon doesn’t want to label, she lets her eyes trace up the contours of Mina’s throat, her jaw, up past her lips to where the girl’s eyes are dark and deep and still. She gently brings her hands up too, to cup Mina’s cheeks, press her thumbs to the edges of her cheekbones. 

“Why are you so scared?” 

“Because you’re about to kiss me,” Mina whispers. 

Nayeon swallows thickly and pulls away. “I didn’t —”

“Please.” Mina shudders, maybe at her own thready voice. “Please, just once —” 

It’s like being carried on a wave back to shore. It’s inevitable. It’s fast and sure and when Nayeon’s mouth finds Mina’s, when the Water Tribe girl’s fingers push through the Fire Lord’s hair, when they breathe between each other’s lips Nayeon finally feels the storm in her chest stretch thin.

Their chins bump together. There’s a sudden, odd pain in Nayeon’s jaw from a misplaced kiss. Mina’s teeth close in surprise around the tip of Nayeon’s tongue. It’s perfect. 

Everytime Nayeon pulls away, nearly panting, Mina pours in again, their mouths magnetized by the heat. 

Between laughs, Nayeon lets herself fall back to lay against the rug, Mina taking the opportunity to press the length of their bodies together. 

At some point, Mina pulls up to sit on her knees. Nayeon flushes when she sees that the girl is, essentially, straddling her. She’s about to make a joke, about how they haven’t even hugged before this, but —

“You’re real,” Mina whispers. It’s painful, how reverent she looks. 

Nayeon laughs, shifting so she can sit up but it’s the evil of mechanics. Her knee comes up dumbly, pressing the length of her thigh Mina’s legs. 

“Oh.” 

Nayeon tenses, instinctual apologies about to rush out, but Mina is not blinking in pain or shuddering in disgust but lowering herself. Just slightly. Just enough so that Nayeon can feel the heat. 

“I’m sorry,” Mina hoarses, her eyes panicked. “I’m so —” 

Fuck it. 

Nayeon surges up, cupping Mina’s cheeks and pressing a litter of kisses to her trembling lips. 

The position is awkward and uncomfortable and perfect. Nayeon lets her hands settle on Mina’s hips, guiding her. Her moans are small, subtle, but perfectly in rhythm with her body. 

Nayeon presses her cheek to Mina’s unsteady chest, to listen to heart thunder inside, to hide in the other girl’s arms as she begins to breathe ragged. 

“Can you —”

“Yes. Anything, yes,” Nayeon rushes. 

Mina laughs breathlessly. “Can you, ah, call me — say that I’m —”

“What is it, baby?” 

Mina collapses into Nayeon’s arms, her whole body shaking with relief. 

The Fire Lord busies herself with pressing kisses to the side of her face, rubbing her back in comforting circles. 

After a minute, Mina finally lifts her head from Nayeon’s shoulder. She’s smiling. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Nayeon searches Mina’s eyes. “Are you —”

“No, I mean are you okay.” 

Oh. 

“I’ll —”

“Do you need to touch yourself?” Mina presents this with such a kind, unassuming concern Nayeon would bark in laughter if she hadn’t already whimpered. 

“On the bed,” Nayeon hurries. 

They settle on top of the covers, Mina folded around the side of Nayeon’s body. 

“I’m not going to last long,” Nayeon sighs when she pushes her hand past the restraint of her waistband. 

Mina furrows her brows, again with a sort of painful innocence. “Is that bad?” 

Nayeon can’t bother to answer when her fingers sink inside. 

“Don’t rush.” Mina presses a smile to her neck. 

“I can’t really —” Nayeon can’t resist the urge to curl just right. It goes on like this. Her hips lift from the bed, trying to extend the cut of pleasure as it sears through her body again and again. “I’m —”

“You can come, Nayeonie,” Mina whispers. But she’s smirking. Nayeon can feel it against her skin. 

Shuddering, Nayeon wipes her fingers off on her thighs. 

“Please tell me you didn’t feel that too.”

Mina giggles, moving so that they can both scoot beneath the covers. Unable to resist, Nayeon burrows deep enough that she can rest her head on Mina’s sternum. 

“Don’t be weird in the morning,” Mina yawns, smoothing her hair down.

Thunder echoes through the palace, through Nayeon’s chest, through Mina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to say that i'm very sorry to my mom 
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> Jihyo and the Kyoshi Warriors sing campfire songs. 
> 
> Mina and Nayeon navigate their less-than-personal life.


	11. heartlines

When Nayeon entered the war room, Jeongyeon was busy with paperwork. After a solid ten minutes of attempts to distract her, the diplomat is still hunched over, squinting at the parchment. 

“War going good?”

“Yep,” Jeongyeon mutters. 

“Jihyo break up with you yet?”

The diplomat hums noncommittally. An immovable object. 

“So,” Nayeon tries, “if I were to sleep with a certain someone where would that put us, legally?” 

Jeongyeon doesn’t even raise her eyes. “You’re still fucking those random girls?” 

“No, I fucked my wife.” 

Jeongyeon throws her head back in a barrage of laughter. At least it’s a reaction. Nayeon will take it. 

“Well, maybe not exactly fucked. What would you call — I mean, it was sort of. Mutual self-touching. But we didn’t — do you see why I’m struggling here?”

“Wait, wait. Are you — you and _Mina_?”

Jeongyeon is still in the denial stage. 

“Is it really so shocking?” 

Nayeon delights in this. 

“You’re married, Nayeon. That’s disgusting.” 

“It was just some light, friendly grinding. You know. Nothing to write home about.” Nayeon’s face hurts from smiling. 

“You’re proud,” Jeongyeon wails, “of light, friendly grinding.” 

“Mina’s very pretty,” Nayeon scoffs, “don’t pretend you wouldn’t partake.” 

“There are so many levels of perversity here.” 

“Well. I didn’t just come here to gloat.” Nayeon refocuses herself. “With the whole...treaty. I was wondering if this counts as a bedding ceremony.” 

Jeongyeon frowns. “Did you want it to?” 

“Well. It happened naturally, I would say. So if you know, something a little less...teenageresque happens. Yes. I wouldn’t mind if it counted.” 

“That might not be a good idea.” 

“Trust me, Jeongie, I know how to please a—”

“I mean,” Jeongyeon seethes, “that you might not want to have actual sex with her. Given what’s going on with the Water Tribe right now, having the option to annul is valuable.”

“That would _maybe_ make a lick of sense if I married a Southern Water Tribe princess, but as memory serves —” 

“You really don’t think this is suspicious,” Jeongyeon says flatly. 

Nayeon crosses her arms, setting her jaw. 

“Let me lay this out. The Northern Water Tribe attacks our mining settlements. Simultaneously, the Southern Water Tribe is attacking our fishing towns. You don’t think that there are some coincidences going on?”

“The Water Tribes hate each other. They’d never collaborate. And besides that, they’re on completely different ends of the earth.” 

“Conveniently, there’s something they hate more, which just so happens to be where we live.” 

“Maybe we should just let the North and South take up their ends of the mainland and then have a little war over who gets my palace, and then Momo can pop out and burn the whole damn thing to the ground.” 

“If we didn’t have Jihyo we’d be supremely fucked,” Jeongyeon breathes. 

“That’s true.” Nayeon can’t help but smile. “How’s that whole thing going?” 

“They’ve been rebuilding the fortress. Apparently Momo burned it up pretty bad. Or unburned it, but not very well? I’m unclear on the technicalities, but she’s safe.”

“Has the traitor talked?” 

“No. But Jihyo has some tricks up her sleeve.” 

“More war crimes. Fantastic.” 

“Do you _want_ to win?” 

“I’ll let you take care of it.” Nayeon drops a kiss to Jeongyeon’s hair, who bats her away. “I have a romance to get back to.” 

“Don’t fuck her!”

“No promises,” Nayeon calls back, floating out the door. 

Tzuyu sits between Dahyun and Chaeyoung, all of them united in owlishly watching Jihyo pace across the fortress courtyard. 

Occasionally the admiral will pause, open her mouth as if she’s about to speak, and then suddenly crouch into a series of self-punishing squats. 

Chaeyoung always snorts, Dahyun worries, and Tzuyu, honestly, is a bit bored. 

They’ve been trying to get the rogue firebender to talk for days, but the strategy of volleying empty threats had been completely useless. 

“If only we didn’t have morals,” Chaeyoung calls. 

Jihyo’s fists clench. “I take it you have a non-violent idea? Find me a Dai Li agent, and I’ll take a go at hypnotism. Or maybe a little water torture —”

“We do,” Tzuyu says. “Have an agent.” 

Jihyo pauses, turning, her eyes bright and predatory. 

She would make a good archer. 

“Right?” Tzuyu glances at Chaeyoung quizzically, who is now slumped. 

“Yeah. It’s not a big —” 

“That’s right! You saved me with a stone fist!” Jihyo bounces in place. “I’m sorry, I’ve just always been — well, I respect your work, honestly.”

“She’s a fan,” Dahyun amends. 

“It shouldn’t surprise me,” Chaeyoung drawls, though she’s still folded up around herself. “That you like a covert organization with no official oversight.” 

Jihyo is still grinning like a child. “So you know how to hypnotize people?” 

Chaeyoung just nods in defeat. 

Jihyo claps her hands together. “This could have been so easy. We could have been able to send her off to Boiling Rock a week ago!” 

Tzuyu shifts uncomfortably. She had been in the room during some of the interrogations with the traitor. What she saw wasn’t exactly an extremist, but another scared person swept up in an unclear war. It wasn’t unlike looking in a mirror. 

An hour later, Tzuyu sits in Chaeyoung’s quarters, watching the Kyoshi Warrior take out her make-up box. From beneath the brushes and vials of paint, she draws out a smooth stone pendant on a leather string. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Chaeyoung sighs. “But it’s an evil little thing.” 

“At least it won’t hurt her,” the archer offers. “Would you — would you show me?” 

Chaeyoung hums. “You trust me?” 

“Yes.” 

They sit across from each other on their knees. On the line where their eyes naturally meet, the pendulum of the pendant rocks back and forth. 

“Watch the stone, not me,” Chaeyoung instructs. 

“But you’re looking at me.”

“I can’t risk hypnotizing both of us,” the warrior laughs. “Jihyo would blow up.” 

Tzuyu tenses her jaw, refocusing on the swinging stone. 

“You’re always staring at me.”

“I am,” Chaeyoung says. “I like your eyes.” 

“They’re like a wolf’s.” Tzuyu means ‘you shouldn’t.’ 

“They’re like marigolds.” 

Tzuyu feels a distance from her body. Like her mouth and eyes and hands are too far for her to reach back into her skin. The details of the hut fade down to general blurs of color, Chaeyoung melting behind the rhythm of the pendant. 

“Your eyes are like marigolds,” Chaeyoung repeats. 

Her voice is the only thing left. 

“Like marigolds,” Tzuyu agrees. 

Maybe the white in the blur is Chaeyoung smiling. “You knew I was a Dai Li agent.”

“I knew.”

“How?” 

The pendant swoops low. 

“Because I’m always staring at you.” 

Another, clearer smile splits Chaeyoung’s face. She reaches up to still the pendant, and the strings suspending Tzuyu above herself are cut away. 

Tzuyu recoils. She had leaned forward, apparently, in her attempt to physically rejoin her body. 

“Weird, right?”

“Really weird,” Tzuyu agrees. 

Mina sits at the edge of the fountain, bending ice to dust the surface of the pool. 

The heat here isn’t what it used to be. Not like it was when she first arrived at the palace. 

Still, the threads of ice vanish quickly in the full force of sunlight. 

Fall would turn into winter soon. Nayeon had said it never snowed at the palace. Maybe it would be nice to make some for her when it gets a little colder. 

After last night, Mina had expected a reset from Nayeon. For their sudden intimacy to reknit and scar and shine with the tenderness of a wound. 

But all through the night, Nayeon kept her head heavy on Mina’s chest. And she kissed her with a sour mouth. And she pouted for her hair to be braided by Mina instead of the handmaids. 

“Too busy for me?” Nayeon murmurs from behind, her hands coming down to rest on Mina’s shoulders in a greeting. 

“Yes,” Mina smiles, sure Nayeon can’t see. 

“Understandable, have a nice day.” Nayeon shifts away but Mina catches her wrist, pulling her back to sit on the edge of the fountain beside her. “You’re actually insatiable.” 

Mina just hums. “How was your meeting?” 

“Boring.” But Nayeon is smiling. 

Mina turns Nayeon’s hand over in her own, looking at the lines along her palms. All these details she never could have dreamed of for the fire girl. All these blemishes and unexpected perfections. 

“Though I did ask Jeongyeon for a little clarity on the, ah —” Nayeon stops. A blush scatters across her cheeks. “Hey, Momo.” 

Mina turns to see the firebender, standing stiffly between the pillars of the courtyard. In her hands, she holds a letter. As she always is now. 

“Everything okay,” Nayeon asks. Her voice is low and even, like talking to a skittish animal. 

“Yeah.” Momo’s eyes are unfocused. “Yeah.” 

Mina’s heart skips in her chest. 

“You want to join us?” 

“Yeah.” Momo drifts forward, as if she’s being pulled by a current she’s decided to surrender to. She plops down on the edge of the fountain. The slightest wisps of smoke emanate from her fingertips, but the letter doesn’t burn. 

Nayeon tries and fails to start conversation a couple times. She seems relieved when a guard comes to tell her she’s needed in the war room. 

“You want to come?” 

“No,” Mina says. It’s painful to let go of Nayeon’s hand. “She shouldn’t be alone.” 

Nayeon nods, a new affection glowing in her eyes. Mina’s stomach churns. 

When the Fire Lord is gone, Mina lowers her voice. She isn’t ready. “Momo, I —” 

“I’d like to see you bend.” 

Oh. 

An unbearable pity rages through Mina’s body. She can’t breathe. There are too many apologies clogging her lungs. 

Mina stands, holding her hands out. She spreads her fingers, then begins to lift strands of water from the fountain. They braid together — a trunk, then branches, then leaves. Transparent roots swirl around the white marble enclose at the base. The ice flows through the veins, hardening until it can stand on its own. 

Mina drops her hands, smiling, turning to see that Momo is looking up too. Her expression is still blank. 

“See?” She tries. “Like your sycamore tree.” 

Momo simply stands. 

For a fractured second, Mina fears against all logic that Momo will burn it down. That she will touch it and the water will evaporate and she’ll be left with nothing to feel. 

But Momo is calm. Always calm. She looks down at her own sandals with a grief Mina wishes she could unknot her from, even if it took an apology she’s not ready for, or the truth to be spoken so plainly or — 

Momo walks away. 

The ice-tree rots in the simplicity of sunlight. 

In front of the long-burning campfire, Dahyun takes a deep breath before emptying into the tsungi horn balanced on her knee. 

It’s a thready, haunting tenor. Mostly Jihyo had heard it before at funerals. 

It makes the dark night more eerie than it should be. 

Dahyun draws in another breath. Her lips quirk in a smile around the mouthpiece. 

“Show off,” Chaeyoung mutters. She’s been in a bad mood since the interrogation, even though the hypnotism was a success. The traitor had revealed that yes, the Southern Water Tribe was funding the attacks. She was obviously a low-level lackey in the plot, because she didn’t know much more than that. But it confirmed the suspicion that Jihyo had since the beginning. 

She had already sent a letter forward to Nayeon, telling her that the traitor was being escorted by a few of her men to Boiling Rock. They had left just an hour ago. 

Tzuyu sits cross-legged at the edge of the fire’s circle of light. In her lap, she has a bundle of arrows. 

Jihyo relaxes in the soft grass, looking up at the blank sky. It’s maybe the first time in two weeks. Finally, there are answers. Finally, there is a path forward. Yes. It will be bloody. Yes. Nayeon will hate to do what her uncle had, but that’s the sad price of power. 

People don’t realize this, Jihyo thinks, but the power of the throne is truly meaningless. The Fire Lord is a scapegoat, not a force of nature. Nayeon was better than that, but no one would ever know. 

“Do you smell that?” 

Tzuyu is stiff, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“Dahyun, that’s disgusting,” Chaeyoung laughs. 

The Kyoshi Warrior removes her lips from the tsungi horn just to stick her tongue on. 

“That’s great, Tzuyu,” Chaeyoung continues. She finally looks okay. “You’re right. That thing sounds like farts.” 

“No,” Tzuyu snarls. 

Snarls.

Jihyo sits up to get a better look at the girl. 

“It’s smoke.” 

All three women take a deep breath through their noses. 

Yes. Smoke. Dark and sweet. Darker than a campfire can burn. 

“Oh fucking hell.”

Chaeyoung is the first to react, popping up and sprinting up to a parapet. 

Dahyun and Tzuyu scramble for the fortress’ gate, opening it to reveal a perfect frame of a forest on fire. 

“Admiral,” Chaeyoung shouts from above them. “You need to see this.” 

Jihyo’s can barely outrun the dread. She climbs up the wall to stand beside the warrior. 

In a perfect circle around them, as far as the eye reaches, the forest is burning around them. The flames ember along the whole stretch of the horizon. 

There is no river to cut them away from this, no ravine or rift or rain or —

Momo. 

“Fucking Momo,” Jihyo curses. 

“What?” Chaeyoung shouts. 

“We need Momo!”

“I don’t know what that is!” 

Jihyo descends the stairs again, rejoining Dahyun and Tzuyu. 

“We have thirty minutes at most,” Tzuyu says. Her eyes boil with a fear Jihyo didn’t know she could have. “The wind is heaviest from the east, but once any part of the fire reaches the fortress we’ll burn.” 

“What do we do?” Dahyun asks eagerly. 

“I —” Jihyo tries. 

Momo. 

“I don’t —” she chokes. 

Momo isn’t here.

“You can’t put it out?” Chaeyoung calls, still at the top of the parapet. 

“Firebenders can only start fires,” Dahyun shouts back. 

“Typical,” the warrior snears. 

“Jihyo,” Tzuyu whispers. “What do we do?” 

Momo isn’t here. 

“Admiral, what’s the plan?” 

There’s no one to fight. 

“We need to decide —” 

“Shut up,” Jihyo hisses. “Please.” Her eyes flick between Tzuyu and Dahyun, hoping the apology is clear. She can’t bother speaking it. “I need to think.” 

Jihyo begins to pace. She can feel the dozens of desperate eyes on her. 

One archer. 

A herd of Kyoshi warriors. 

A few of her own soldiers. 

Herself.

No Momo. 

Jihyo turns sharply. 

One archer. 

A dozen Kyoshi warriors. 

Not enough of her soldiers.

Herself.

No Momo. 

Jihyo swallows. 

She has Tzuyu, who has to live. She’s so young. She has to live.

She has Dahyun, who always deserved better than this. Better than a life at the palace and better than a burning death in a country that had never been kind enough to her. 

She has her men, who trust her. Who believe she knows all the tactical escape routes, the secret patterns of the earth. 

She has herself.

She has no Momo. 

She has Chaeyoung. The ungrateful warrior. The snide contrarian. The disgraced Dai Li agent. 

Chaeyoung. Who can earthbend. 

Jeongyeon lights an oil lamp between her fingertips. 

She can hear shuffling outside her door. Lately the guards have been knocking at odd hours, coming immediately whenever they get a letter from Jihyo. It’s trained her to be a light sleeper. 

“I’m up,” she calls at the closed door. “Just a second.” 

She kicks out from under the covers, padding across the cool tile floor to slide her door open. 

Momo is there, hugging a pillow against her chest. 

“Can I, uh.” The woman winces at herself. “Just tonight?” 

Jeongyeon smiles, moving to the side so Momo can enter. “Honestly, I’m a little hurt that it took you this long to need me.” 

Momo’s face crumples into a helpless smile. “I thought you’d need me, Jeongie.” 

Jeongyeon slides under the covers, beside her friend. “Oh yeah?” 

“You miss Jihyo.” 

“Oh.” Jeongyeon can’t help the surprise. No matter how intuitive Nayeon and Sana can be, there also seems to be an unspoken emotional distance sometimes. Like the best thing is to let themselves figure it out, and come back together after whatever harshness they inflicted on themselves had worn back down. 

But Momo, since the time they had together at the academy, had been different. Always offering herself like an anchor, even when Jeongyeon herself wasn’t sure she needed one. 

“I’m okay.” 

It’s true. To a degree. She’s missed Jihyo so often and for so long. It’s a wound that’s healed, but still the skin is tender. 

It’s useless to think about. She can’t change who Jihyo is, or what she needs to do, in the same way that Jihyo can’t change her. 

“You’re so strong, Jeongyeonnie.” Momo’s eyes are full of wonder and reverence and Jeongyeon is holding her, the world’s worst fear, in her arms. 

“So are you.” Jeongyeon rocks her back and forth. 

“What do you do when you’re angry?” 

It’s a few minutes later, the bed mussed and Jeongyeon packing a pipe, tamping the tobacco down with her pinkie. 

“I thought Jihyo made you quit,” Momo says, eyes still wide. 

“Jihyo smokes with me more often than not,” Jeongyeon laughs. “She doesn’t tell me what to do _all_ the time.” 

They stand by the open window, leaned against the frame. Because, yes, Jihyo says not to smoke inside, but Jeongyeon will at least let herself get away with this much. 

She draws in the smoke, then lets it filter back through her mouth. 

Momo copies, her eyes watering slightly. “This makes you feel better?” 

“It gets me to breathe slowly,” Jeongyeon explains, retouching the chamber with a tiny flame edging against her nail. “And it’s also like a fuse. Like however long this takes to burn, that’s how long I get to be angry. And then —” She draws in another lungful, then exhales. “Poof.” 

“Poof,” Momo whispers. 

“I was thinking,” Mina is saying, voice soft and languid and so much like the river in the woods, “that when it gets a little colder I might be able to make you some snow.” 

Nayeon is trying to listen. 

The Water Tribe girl is laid out on the bed. The tie of her robe is loose. It isn’t revealing much — just a line of skin that runs from her throat to her belly, but Nayeon’s brain is operating on the singular pulse of trying not to pull it away, and see her fully, and — 

“Nayeonie,” Mina laughs, propping herself on an elbow. 

The robe shifts. But not enough. 

“I’m listening,” Nayeon pouts. “But also. Are we going to have sex?” 

Now Mina is smirking. It’s still miraculously pretty. “That’s bold.” 

“We’re married,” the Fire Lord whines. 

“You should still ask.”

“Okay. Do you want to have sex?” 

“No.” 

Nayeon huffs dramatically, hoping for a giggle. When she gets it, she presses a kiss to the bare skin of Mina’s stomach. “You’re a liar.” 

“I —” Mina’s hand comes down, pushing through Nayeon’s hair. Perfect. “It’s complicated.” 

“We’re married. That’s the least complicated definition I’ve ever had for a relationship.” 

“We don’t need to rush,” Mina counters. It still seems half-hearted. 

Nayeon can’t help the harsh laugh. She can still feel the warmth of Mina on her thigh, her breaths hissing into her own mouth. Her whines and heartbeat and — 

The indignation transitions to something else. 

“Do you not —” Nayeon takes a deep breath. She can’t meet Mina’s eyes. “Do you regret it?” 

Of course she would. Nayeon just took and took from this girl. The mechanics don’t matter. Mina was probably doing what she felt she had to, just giving up what was expected of — 

“Don’t.” Mina’s voice is stern, but her eyes dance with affection. “It’s just that we aren’t simply two people.” 

“We —”

“Let me.” Mina tucks Nayeon’s hair behind her ears. “When we make love —” 

Nayeon’s heart breaks and rebuilds itself again in the time it takes lightning to live a full life. 

“I want it to just be us. No treaty. No war.”

“Did Jeongyeon set you up to this?” Nayeon grumbles. “She’s too smart for her own good. Blackmailing me with —” 

“See,” Mina laughs helplessly. “I don’t want it to be like that. Like the whole world is waiting for us.” 

Nayeon huffs. “I’m not trying to coerce you, but doesn’t it make you feel a little sad that I’m waiting?” 

Mina’s smile is still serene, even now, half-dressed and sleepy. “I’ve waited longer, Nayeonie.” 

“Oh yeah?” Nayeon pokes her stomach playfully. “How long have you wanted me?” 

It doesn’t make sense that someone smiling can look so equally sad. 

“I want to tell you the truth. If you’ll listen.” 

It hurts to breathe. Nayeon can only manage to nod. 

“The other day, I was talking to Momo in the garden. She’s a lot like me, I think. She told me that she imagines Sana is with her, always. Especially when she’s in pain. And — and I’ve always imagined you.” 

Mina covers her face with her hands, leaning back. She’s laughing softly in self-deprecation. 

“Of course I didn’t know you. I didn’t know what you looked like, or how you talked, or even if you were kind. But I was young, and silly, and —”

“Alone,” Nayeon whispers. 

“You know how I hid in my father’s palace? In the ice? Whenever I did that, I thought of a girl made of fire who would find me. Who would melt it all away until it was just me and her and nothing else. And, other times, I wanted to make a tunnel through the earth, so I could be with you, finally. And it’s so stupid, because I didn’t — maybe it doesn’t mean much to you, that I loved this fantasy version of you before I knew —” 

“You loved me,” Nayeon needs to hear it again. 

“I know I didn’t really. I couldn’t. When I first got here, I realized how big the gap is between what I thought you would be and what you are.” 

“Am I —” 

Mina finally uncovers her face. She shines. “You’re more than I could have hoped for myself.” 

Now Nayeon can’t bear to look. It’s too much. The years of fractures and anger and failure all, suddenly, smoothed over. Even if it’s so empty. To be loved from a distance. To be loved as an escape for a lonely girl. It’s empty, but there’s some new safety in all those years. Like the slow-burning fever of even the most hideous volcano. Just to know that something has been living all this time, even if there was no way to know its nature. 

“I’m still getting over the fire girl,” Mina whispers. “I know that sounds silly. But I — I want to be alone with you.” 

Nayeon shatters. 

“If you can wait a little longer.” Mina’s fingers tangle in her hair. 

“I’ll earn it.” Nayeon presses one last kiss to Mina’s skin, then lifts up so they can curl around each other. 

Her heart thunders in her chest.

“Quiet down,” Mina scolds, snuggling closer. 

Nayeon tries for some levity. “I don’t know if I can compete with this fire girl.” 

Mina yawns wide against Nayeon’s shoulder. “But she wasn’t warm.”

The survivors walk in a line through the heartlines of the earth. 

Chaeyoung in front, carving the earth with her hands. Jihyo behind her, holding a helpful flame. 

Then Dahyun, the Kyoshi Warriors, the Fire Nation soldiers. 

Tzuyu holds up the back of the line. 

It’s almost harder to breathe than smoke. The air is heavy with the stains of the earth. 

The roots of a tree are a perfect mirror of its branches. 

But Tzuyu knows, above her, the forest is burning. 

It’ll only be these white threads, these skeletons, left beneath the earth. 

Will the trees rebuild themselves in the same shape? Or would they want something new, to reach the sun differently, to touch each other more softly when they next get the chance? 

Tzuyu decides she’ll ask Dahyun. 

Later. 

First she has to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> Chaeyoung takes charge. 
> 
> Nayeon repeats the past. 
> 
> Momo finds some comfort.


	12. a violent race

The warden of Boiling Rock rides in a shaky gondola over cracked, angry earth. 

When he gets to the dock, the ocean is as it always is. Misty and grey. Steam rises from the sluggish waves that lap at the pebbled shore. 

And then, the oddity. A Fire Nation ship run aground, as big and wrong as a beached whale. The sail is tattered but not burned.

As he wades out into the water, one of the guard runs to meet him. The rest are swarming around this new carcass. 

“Sir, you don’t want to go up.”

The warden brushes him off. It’s his damn prison. This will be the first interesting thing to happen in months. 

On deck, some of his men are holding their shirts up over their mouths. Some are vomiting. 

Idiots. 

The warden enters the captain’s cabin. 

There, six people lay on the ground. Their eyes are open, grey, stuck with flies. They’ve been dead for a few days. Nothing worth —

There’s a woman. Her hands are still clenched around her own throat. 

Covering his nose with a handkerchief, the warden squats down. He carefully pulls her rigid arms away. 

Her neck is bruised a sickly purple The marks of her nails cut into the skin like crescent moons. 

It’s been a long time since Nayeon had been called to a midnight war room meeting. But here she is, stifling a yawn into her hand, the other curled around Mina’s as they slide into their seats at the head of the table.

Everyone else is already there; Jihyo, face smeared with dirt, Jeongyeon fussing over her, Dahyun and an unfamiliar warrior chatting in the corner. Tzuyu, also a bit worse for wear, is wrapped in a backhug from Momo. 

Nayeon gives herself a single breath to be happy with this. Her whole heart fills the room. 

No.

Sana isn’t here. 

“Okay,” the Fire Lord says. “Let’s get started.”

She expects Jihyo to begin, but it’s the unfamiliar warrior who rises from her seat. “You have a spy.” 

“I’m sorry.” Nayeon squints at the girl.”Who are you?”

“I’m Chaeyoung.” 

Nayeon glances around to demand clarity.

“That’s Chaeyoung,” Tzuyu confirms, almost smiling. 

The warrior yawns languidly. She carries herself as if her robes aren't stained with soil and thin white threads of grassroot. “It’s my assessment that the palace has been infiltrated within the last three months.”

Nayeon glances at Jihyo for confirmation that, yes, this random person should be speaking. 

The admiral just nods gravely. 

“The fortress, which was basically your only foothold in the straits, is gone. It was burned down in a forest fire, but we all know it wasn’t _just_ a forest fire.” 

Nayeon gulps. 

“Now, before it was burned, we had possession of a Fire Nation traitor. I interrogated her, and she confirmed that she was working with the Southern Water Tribe. The admiral sent her to Boiling Rock.”

“Well, that’s a bright spot,” Nayeon tries. 

“It’s not.” Jeongyeon mutters. “The ship arrived at Boiling Rock, but everyone on it was dead.” 

“Bloodbenders,” Jihyo spits. “They were all —”

“We don’t need to tell her —”

“No, what?” Nayeon straightens in her chair. 

Jihyo and Jeongyeon look down at their hands.“They all choked themselves to death.” 

Beneath the table, Mina’s hand passes soothingly over Nayeon’s knee. 

Chaeyoung, however, is unphased. “Obviously they meant to send a message. They want to intimidate you. But they made a mistake.” 

“Tell us,” Dahyun chants. 

“This is the first record we have of the bloodbenders attacking anyone outside of the straits. And they just so happen to get the ship with their own ally on it?”

“Unlikely,” Dahyun supplies. 

“For the bloodbenders to know, they would have to have inside information. Not only on the location of the ship, but also —”

“The fortress!” Dahyun keeps the momentum up, bouncing in her seat. 

“— is landlocked. The pirates didn’t actually know we took the fortress at all. So how did they know not to return? And then just burn the whole damn thing?” 

“I’m sorry,” Nayeon sighs. “But really. Who the fuck are you?”

“She’s a former Dai Li agent,” Jihyo mutters, though she’s smiling. “Now a Kyoshi Warrior. And on our side.”

“Not on your side,” Chaeyoung says. “But I am here to help. I suspect anyone in the palace could be behind this. Guards, handmaids. All of you, honestly. No offense.” Chaeyoung yawns again. “Starting tomorrow Dahyun and I will head up the Royal Investigation Unit.” 

“That isn't a real —”

“It it now.” The warrior claps her hands together. “Oh. And if one of you is the spy, I would suggest making a run for it tonight. It’ll just make my job easier.” 

Jeongyeon sits with her back leaned against the tub, listening to Jihyo splash around idly, washing herself. 

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” Jihyo groans in relief. “I’ve been disgusting for the past two days.” 

Jeongyeon just hums, twisting the tie of her robe around her thumb. “Do you really think there’s a spy?” 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” 

“And you think that warrior can find them?” 

Jihyo’s hand passes through Jeongyeon’s hair. “She was a Dai Li agent.” 

The diplomat turns to poke Jihyo’s heat-flushed cheek. “You finally met one.”

“I can die happy,” Jihyo grins, sinking deeper into the cloudy water. 

Despite living her whole life on the mainland of the Fire Nation, Tzuyu had never been inside the palace. 

Growing up, it had been a symbol of wealth and power and tradition. Everyone coveted an invitation from the Fire Lord, a medal ceremony for their bravery during the war. 

It wasn’t a victory to finally be in these halls. 

When the council arrested her for killing the Fire Lord they didn’t care that she didn’t know how to get into the palace. Didn’t even know what floor the throne room was on. 

Not that it mattered. There wasn’t a trial. Just a cell in the tower beside the palace. 

Tzuyu had watched, for those years, through her window. She had seen people out on the balconies, their bodies dark and blurred in the distance. She had hated the place, this symbol of everything she hadn’t done but suffered for anyways. 

But now she’s here, at the center of a maze she never wanted to enter.

Momo walks in front of her. It’s supposed to be a tour, but the firebender is quiet, seemingly drifting through the halls like she’s being carried on a current. Tzuyu simply follows. 

It’s only when they come to the portrait hall — a wrong turn on Momo’s part, it seems — that the older girl pauses. 

They stand in front of a tall painting of the former Fire Lord. He’s smiling, but just barely. Tzuyu had never seen his face before. 

“Sorry,” Momo mutters. “I’m sure you don’t care about —”

“It’s fine.” Tzuyu walks closer, letting her hand run up the canvas. “This is him?” 

“Yeah.” Momo chews her lip, glancing to the left. Where Nayeon’s portrait is. 

“It doesn’t really look like her.” 

“No. I guess not.” Momo frowns. 

“Maybe Chaeyoung could paint one,” Tzuyu murmurs. It’s a silly thing to say. But Momo’s eyes shine, and Tzuyu thinks maybe she said something embarrassing. 

But Momo never teases. 

“How is, uh, Sana?” She had helplessly overheard so many of Momo and Jihyo’s conversations before on the ship, and it just seemed polite. And like a good diversion. 

“She’s been writing to me everyday. And I write to her, but I don’t know where she is, so I can’t send them.”

“What do you write?” 

“Everything.” Momo sighs. Her eyes are still trained on Nayeon’s portrait. “All the conversations I have with Jeongyeon and Mina, and what their moods are like, and what we have to eat, and what kind of birds I see in the garden, and what the maids joke about in the hall. You know. Just stuff like that.” 

Tzuyu hums. It sounds like a waste of time. 

She looks again up at the former Fire Lord. There’s nothing unique about his face. It’s like an artist had simply taken an impression of what a man looks like and put it on paper. 

Tzuyu pulls an arrow from her quiver. She reaches up and, with some force, plunges it into his chest. 

She expects something from Momo. A question. A protest. 

But instead the firebender smiles slyly. “Should we burn it?” 

Ten minutes later, they stand in the courtyard. The edges of the parchment curl to black on the cobbled stones. The fire eats the image, and then itself. 

Nayeon can’t sleep. 

She doesn’t know how Mina can, the other girl breathing evenly beside her. It’s almost cruel, when Nayeon knows her heart is raging in her chest. She wants to wake her, and ask for words of comfort that Mina might not believe. 

She kicks out of bed, watching her wife for any signs of stirring, but she remains perfectly still. 

The palace doesn’t feel like it belongs to her now. Not only is there the addition of Chaeyoung, an unknown quantity, but now she has to suspect every guard, every handmaid, apparently even her own friends of betrayal. 

It’s natural to go to the throne room. 

She sits, not where she has, but on the floor. She looks up into her own flames and imagines her uncle’s shadow behind them. 

She doesn’t really have to imagine that hard. His ghost is always here. Mute, invisible, but still a weight that drags against her on nights like these. 

Paranoia had seized him in the end. He suspected everyone in the palace of allying with the rebels, which ironically had pushed so many of them to do so. She was all he really had left. The last of his family, maybe even the last person he loved. 

And then she had killed him. 

The first meeting of the Royal Investigation Unit commences at dawn in the palace library. 

Dahyun is poised over a wide, blank sheet of parchment, while Chaeyoung sits against the windowsill. 

“So first,” Chaeyoung says, “we should rule ourselves out.” 

“Easy. You can’t be the spy because you’ve been with me every minute of every day, and I can’t be the spy for the same reason.” 

“Unless we’re both spies.”

“In which case, we’ve really got to hand it to ourselves.” 

Dahyun smiles. The best thing about leaving the palace for Kyoshi Island was simply Chaeyoung. 

“Nayeonie is obviously in the ‘not spy’ column —” Dahyun scrawls this as she says it on the parchment — “and Tzuyu is a soft ‘not spy’ too.” 

“Alright. So, the diplomat?”

“Jeongyeon. Has a pretty pro-Water Tribe record. She did travel to the North when all this was happening, but apparently that was in an official capacity to form a treaty with them.”

“That’s not suspicious, but also not not-suspicious.” 

“She and Nayeon have been best friends since their days at the academy,” Dahyun argues. “There’s no way.” 

“I’ll allow her on the ‘probably not’ column.” 

Dahyun adds Jeongyeon there. 

“Then, of course, there’s Mina. Water Tribe princess. Got here a month or so after the attacks began in the strait. Obviously top suspect since she’s next in line for the throne if Nayeon dies.” 

Dahyun agrees, though she feels the slightest guilt writing the girl’s name at the top of the page. 

Chaeyoung drums her fingers on the desk. “Moving on. Admiral Jihyo. A bit of a —”

There’s a knock at the door. 

“This is an official meeting,” Dahyun calls, grinning at Chaeyoung. “Don’t even —”

The door slides open anyways. Tzuyu is standing there, dressed in silks. 

“Oh, hey, Tzuyu. You look nice.” 

“You look pretty,” Chaeyoung says, like it’s a correction.

Tzuyu, of course, ignores them. 

Dahyun reaches over the parchment, covering her writing with the sleeves of her robes. “Sorry. Top secret stuff.” 

Tzuyu nods stiffly. “I have information.” 

Chaeyoung claps her hands together. “Perfect.” 

Again, Tzuyu glazes over this. “Last night I was talking to Momo. She said she’s been recording everything that’s happened during the last two weeks in letters.” 

“That’s great,” Dahyun starts, “but —”

“She hasn’t sent them.” 

Momo has never seen Jeongyeon have so much fun at breakfast. 

Every movement, every mumble, is called out gleefully by the diplomat, always with the remark ‘that’s what I spy would do’ or ‘that’s what a spy would say.’ 

Everyone has varying levels of appreciation for the levity. Mina and Jihyo seem the most accepting, while Nayeon just frowns at her plate with each new jab. 

It’s a relief when Dahyun pops her head in the door, smiling as always, and asks if she can steal Momo for a minute. 

She almost sprints out of the room to join the Kyoshi Warrior in the hall, where Chaeyoung and Tzuyu are waiting. 

“We heard you have letters.” 

“Oh. Yeah. But I haven’t sent them because Sana is —”

“Right, yeah. Can we see them?” 

Momo leads the three women to her room, then goes to the desk drawer where she keeps the notes tucked away from the maids. 

But maybe it wasn’t that drawer. Maybe it was in the dresser. 

No. Okay. Maybe under the bed. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” Momo mutters. “I just— maybe I put them— no.” 

She throws the blankets and pillows from her bed, then rifles through the robes in her closet. 

“It’s not— I couldn’t have—” 

“You lost them?”

“No,” Momo pleads. “They’re—” 

All those hours. All those days of things to tell Sana. 

“Gone.” 

The second meeting of the Royal Investigative Unit happens five minutes later in an alcove of the palace. 

Chaeyoung is giddy. It’s infectious. 

“Alright, so one of three things just happened. First, Momo legitimately lost a novel’s worth of letters to her lover.”

“Extremely unlikely.” 

“Option two. Momo burned the letters to protect either herself or the spy.” 

“More logical but still not perfect.”

“But third. The spy, between yesterday night and as soon as twenty minutes ago, stole the letters.” 

“Which gives us a timeframe.” 

Chaeyoung smiles. “We need to interview the maids and the guards first. We shouldn’t freak the Fire Lord out by calling all in the higher-ups just yet.” 

Nayeon spends the day in the war room, staring down at the map of her kingdom. 

The strait is littered with figures of blue ships to represent the Tribes. 

Mina sits beside her, cool hands enveloping one of Nayeon’s fists. Mostly they’ve sat in silence. Nayeon’s thoughts keep knotting into unsayable things, confessions of fear that Mina — no matter how kind, no matter how careful — probably can’t untangle into comfort. 

“You can go to bed if you want,” Nayeon tries. The sun probably set an hour ago. 

“But then who would be my alibi?” 

The laugh comes as a surprise, pushed out from Nayeon’s chest. She turns her hand over so she can lace her fingers with Mina’s. 

“If it helps, I don’t think it’s any of your friends,” Mina says gently. 

Dread flushes through Nayeon’s chest. Of course she wants to believe that. But she can’t, not fully. It would just make it hurt more if she’s wrong. 

“It’s probably one of those fucking guards,” Nayeon snarls instead, turning her anger toward a more comfortable target. “There were a few who would open my letters or burst in on meetings. The gall.” 

They walk back to their room. They turn away from each other to undress and slip into their pajamas, the lower into bed. 

Again, Nayeon can’t sleep. 

Again, she drifts away into the palace.

Isn’t it supposed to be that a creator knows their own labyrinth? Enough not to be lost in it? 

Nayeon holds a candle in her hand, but the contours of this darkness aren’t the same as her home. It’s the safety of Jeongyeon and Jihyo, of Sana and Momo, that made the palace more than walls and doors and windows. And now this play had been infiltrated, torn apart from the inside, after all the time Nayeon had spent trying to protect those four people. If she couldn’t at least protect four — 

Tzuyu is in the courtyard, reaching up to pull a peach from a high branch. 

Nayeon leans against the pillar, just watching the girl take her first bite. 

“I can hear you breathing,” Tzuyu mutters once she’s swallowed. 

“That’s creepy.” 

The archer turns, her face dimpled in a smile. “Want to hear something worse?”

“Yes.” 

“All people sound different when they breathe. Their paces and tones are all distinct.”

Nayeon thinks of Mina. “Heartbeats are like that too.” 

Tzuyu nods. 

Moonlight drapes the courtyard in odd shadows. 

“I don’t like this place,” Tzuyu says. It’s conversational, not unkind, and Nayeon can’t help but smile. “I can’t hear the wind or the birds.” 

“It’ll grow on you.” That probably isn’t true. “I grew up here and I’ve gone through phases of loving and despising it.”

Tzuyu chews thoughtfully. “And right now?” 

“Sana isn’t here.” It’s automatic to tell Tzuyu the truth. The shortest, cleanest version. 

“Oh. Momo’s —”

“She’s not Momo’s.” Nayeon doesn’t mind the edge to her voice. Tzuyu has seen it all before. “Sana is more than Momo’s. But she fucking left, just like last time.” 

Nayeon hasn’t really let herself unload this specific weight. It wasn’t in good taste, considering Momo’s grief and the budding relationship with Mina. It seemed too complicated, too exhausting to explain perfectly. But today, more than any other, Nayeon needs Sana. 

Sana was the only one who had ever really saved her. 

Yes, Jeongyeon was always by her side. Jihyo always defended her. Momo was the consummate bodyguard. But Sana was brave enough to put herself between Nayeon and self-destruction too many times to count. 

Sana, whose only power was in leaving people. 

Sana, who doomed Tzuyu. 

Sana, who — 

“Sorry, Tzuyu, I — do you know if Dahyun is still up?” 

Tzuyu swallows another bite of the peach. “Probably.” 

Mina wakes in an empty bed. 

She scans the dark room, reaching for a candle only to remember there aren’t any matches.

With a sigh, she unfolds herself from the covers and loops a robe around her shoulders. 

She looks for Nayeon in the halls, the throne room, but the Fire Lord isn’t there. Just as another long yawn draws her back towards bed, she sees someone in the courtyard.

Even from this distance she knows it isn’t Nayeon.

It’s Momo, reaching up toward a messenger hawk’s perch on the burned sycamore. 

“Momo,” she calls. 

The woman turns, squints, and then smiles. But it’s hesitant. “Ah, hey Mina. You scared me.”

“Momo,” Mina whispers. And then, finding her voice again, “Who are you sending a letter to?”

Momo retracts her hand, letter clutched between her fingers protectively. “Oh. No one.” 

Mina walks forward, into the low grass. “I thought you didn’t know where Sana was.” 

She’s pulled forward as if on a fishing reel, toward Momo, and toward the inevitable.

It can’t be. 

But here is Momo, a letter in her hand. 

Maybe it could make sense. 

Momo was always in the palace, always floating into conversations and meetings. Recording it all. 

Momo wasn’t at the fortress when it was attacked. 

She must have been sending the letters at night and Sana — 

Sana, who wished she had been born a waterbender.

Sana, who wished for the long nights of the poles. 

“I — I’m going to get Nayeon.” 

A smirk cuts across Momo’s face. She holds out the letter, shaking it like a toy for a dog. “You want to read it?” 

Mina snatches the letter. It’s curiosity. It’s instinct. It’s anger. 

Scrawled on the parchment, there is a single sentence:

‘Nayeon needs you.’ 

Momo is still smirking.

“It could be a code,” Mina hisses. “It could be —”

“Fine.” Momo takes back the letter and it burns away in her hands. The smoke rises up to her face and she breathes it in steadily. “I won’t send it.” 

“I’m still going to —”

“I’m sorry you don’t know me.” Momo’s voice is low, cutting. Not like anything Mina has heard before. “And that you don’t know Sana. Maybe you could have had the chance, but you decided to hurt her.” 

It’s hard to breathe. 

“I didn’t hurt Sana, I just —” 

Momo laughs derisively.“Have you ever been kissed by someone you didn’t want?” 

The weight of Momo’s grief settles on Mina’s chest. “No,” she whispers. 

The firebender hovers there. Mina searches her eyes for something, anything, but they’re blank and lightless. Momo leans forward, just barely, but enough for Mina’s nose to sting with smoke. Momo’s mouth is still pulled in a pained grimace, her lips pink and parched and —

Momo shifts back. She wipes the ash off her fingertips with the sleeve of her robe, then turns to go.

Mina swallows thickly, stifling a sob before it blooms from her throat. “Are you going to tell Nayeon?” 

“Keep whatever secrets you want, Mina.” The firebender’s pace doesn’t falter. “It’s all you’ve got, right?” 

Dahyun looks over the convoluted map of connections and distrust that she’s accumulated throughout the day.

Unfortunately, after hours of interrogation, it was clear they would probably have to spend the next five days checking each alibi. The one thing she had learned was that literally everyone in the palace was aware of the letters, because Momo had apparently spent hours writing them. There was no maid or guard who even pretended to be unaware of their existence. Damn Momo and her transparency. 

That still left the chance that it was someone higher up, someone at the core, that betrayed Nayeon. 

This had moved them back to square one; suspicious of everyone, because it seemed to tempt fate to not be suspicious of someone. 

Chaeyoung is laid out on the four-poster bed, spinning a pebble between her hands. 

Dahyun is about to suggest they get some rest when the door slams open.

The pebble clatters on the tiled floor.

Dahyun rushes to bodyblock the papers on the desk. 

“This is an official — oh. Hi, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am,” Nayeon pants. “I figured it out.”

Chaeyoung almost snaps her neck sitting up. “Who the spy is?” 

“No, but I do know how to catch them within three days.” Nayeon is grinning from ear to ear. “First, we ground all the messenger hawks in the palace.”

“No offense, but if I was a spy, I would just lay low during a no-fly order. That’s not going to work with —”

“Right, yes, but. What if you thought you knew why the palace grounded the messenger hawks, completely unrelated to a spy hunt, and there was an absolutely vital piece of information for the bloodbenders to know immediately?” 

It’s clear she’s waiting for gasps or applause. Dahyun is too tired to give either. 

Nayeon beams anyways. “Because the Fire Lord is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> Nayeon executes her plan. Or, well, herself.
> 
> Tzuyu gets a new mask. 
> 
> Momo makes a decision.


	13. in circles around the heart

Nayeon eases her bedroom door closed behind her, casting a few apologetic looks at the still-sleeping figure of Mina in her bed. 

For as quiet and hesitant as her steps are across the tile floor, Mina’s eyes still flick open just as she’s about to lower herself into bed. 

“Where were you,” Mina whines. “I’ve been cold.”

Whines. 

Nayeon shudders as she tucks herself between the cool sheets. “I figured out how to —”

The waterbenders nose gently brushes across the skin at Nayeon’s nape, her hands pushing inside the folds of Nayeon’s robe to squeeze playfully at her stomach. 

“How to,” Mina leads innocently. 

“How I’m going to die.” 

Mina stiffens, her nails pressing crescents to Nayeon’s abdomen. Like she’s testing that the older girl is still there, still real, hasn’t slipped away yet. Nayeon’s heart flies. 

“Not in the existential way, but more like this week. I was thinking that maybe Tzuyu could put an arrow through me, but Chaeyoung shot that down pretty fast. So we’re going to go with —”

“This isn’t funny, Nayeon.” Mina retracts her hands, rolling over to face away. “Joking about something like that.” 

The Fire Lord pokes at Mina’s shoulders. “What, do you have a crush on me or something?” 

The silence is worse than the cold. 

“You should probably explain,” Mina mutters. 

“I told you about how Sana helped me after my, ah, incident.” Nayeon waits for some sound of confirmation or interest, but there isn’t one. “But the detailed version is that she knew we should lock the palace down immediately after it happened and ground the messenger hawks before rumors could start to spread. Well. We spread rumors. Just not the right ones.” Nayeon takes a deep breath for the next onslaught. “And so my idea was that I’d fake my death, we’d do Sana’s procedure, and the spy will take a lot of risks to get the information out to the bloodbenders.”

Mina doesn’t shift. 

“I thought it would be best to tell you, since you have such a big crush on me.” 

“Are you going to tell Momo?” 

“Not for the same reason I’m telling you, but yeah. And Jeongyeon and Jihyo. I don’t want everyone wailing for the next three days.” Nayeon smiles at the image of storming into Jeongyeon and Jihyo’s bedroom as they sob uncontrollably on their bed, and then in the shock and awe of the moment fall to their knees and thank her for ever deigning to —

“So you think the spy is a palace worker?” 

“Statistically, it’s more likely, right?” Nayeon pokes again at her shoulder. “And the other night you said you didn’t think it was any of my friends.” 

“Right.” 

Nayeon huffs, throwing an arm carelessly over Mina’s body and scooting closer. She presses a half-hesitant kiss to her hair. “Let me warm you up.” 

It takes a minute, but Mina’s muscles relax under Nayeon’s lips as they trail to her shoulders. 

“You can’t keep spoiling me.” Finally, Mina’s voice struggles back to playfulness. “What will I do when you leave?” 

“Never gonna leave you,” Nayeon mumbles, bringing Mina’s palm up to kiss too. 

The waterbender reangles her hand so she can cup the Fire Lord’s cheek. “You know that plan is crazy, right?” 

Nayeon beams. “That’s why it’s going to work.” 

The first meeting of the Royal Assassination Unit happens at dawn in the throne room. 

Present: 

Nayeon, future victim.

Chaeyoung, coup specialist.

Dahyun, notetaker.

Momo, official bodyguard. 

Tzuyu isn’t sure why she’s there exactly. It seemed like Dahyun and Chaeyoung wanted to be inclusive now that they had cleared her name of suspicion. At first, it seemed that her purpose might be to fire an arrow through Nayeon’s chest in a public place, but Dahyun had quickly ruled that out as an unnecessary bit of theatrics. 

“Ideally, you’ll die a long, confusing death,” Dahyun is explaining to a huffy Nayeon. “The information should spread quickly, but the developments should be slow. The more we confuse the spy, the more they believe this situation is escalating, the better chance we have of them trying to make a run for it.” 

Nayeon rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t have suggested this if I knew I’d be spending a week sleeping in the tunnels. No offense, Momo.”

“That might be nostalgic.” Dahyun waggles her eyebrows.

Both Momo and Nayeon tense like deer. 

Momo’s purpose will be to stay with Nayeon at all times during the operation. There’s a chance the spy might be violent. Most of the staff are aware of the tunnels, and so it isn’t the most ideal hiding spot. But it’s the only one they have. 

“Anyways, I’m thinking we move into phase one immediately. You,” Chaeyoung gestures to Nayeon, “need to use the tunnels to move around from now on. Then we start the lockdown. Tomorrow morning, when the maids come, your bed will be covered in blood. But if anyone asks,” Chaeyoung now points to Dahyun, Momo, and Tzuyu, “You say…” 

“That the Fire Lord’s condition is confidential,” the three women say in unison, with varying levels of enthusiasm. 

“Two days in, we’ll start phase two. Spreading rumors, confiding in staff with vague, morose statements.” 

“If we haven’t caught the spy by then, we’ll go to phase three.” Dahyun doublechecks her parchment. “Where we start interviewing staff and accusing them of random crimes.” 

“So a week of me in the tunnel,” Nayeon sighs. 

“This was your idea,” Tzuyu blanches. 

“What I’m really concerned about,” the Fire Lord continues, her face shifting to grave. “We’re giving the bloodbenders a lot of time to spread further into the mainland.” 

“The spy is more valuable than the land you’re going to lose.” 

“You could send me.” Momo stares down at her hands, almost bashful. “If you’re worried.” 

“I promised Sana —” 

“Right.” Momo’s voice is harsh, even when it’s quiet. “I just sit and stay like a dog.”

“Okay!” Dahyun claps her hands together with a look of alarm. “Meeting over?” 

“Yeah. Everyone out.” Nayeon rises, walking back toward the platform of her throne. “Except you, Momo.” 

Dahyun and Chaeyoung wince and scurry out. 

Tzuyu, though, drifts. Momo’s face is red — anger or shame, it’s hard to tell. Nayeon is seated behind her flames, obscured by mirages of orange and red. 

“Do you want me to stay,” Tzuyu whispers to her friend. 

“No.” Momo makes the effort to smile. “You don’t need to see this.” 

“No pai sho at breakfast,” Jeongyeon groans when Jihyo slaps the board on the table with a devilish smirk. 

“I’m the highest ranking _living_ person in the palace. Breakfast is now pai sho.” The admiral dumps a velvet bag of tiles on the table. “Mina,” Jihyo booms. “Rematch?” 

“Uh.” Mina does her best impression of polite surprise. She does a purposeful scan of the room. Everyone but Nayeon and — “Where’s Momo?” 

“In the throne room with the Fire Lord,” Chaeyoung mumbles through a mouthful of omelet. 

“Should someone check —”

“It’s fine,” Dahyun smiles reassuringly. “All according to our brilliant plan.” 

Mina hides her hands beneath the table, twisting at her own trembling fingers. 

“So, pai sho?” 

“One game,” Mina decides. They can all pretend. 

The flames in front of the Fire Lord’s throne are waist-high, desperately licking at themselves.

Like dogs, Momo thinks. 

“Here.” Nayeon points to the space in front of her. 

Momo obeys, walking forward without a blink through the wall of fire. She sits across from Nayeon, the heat of the blaze staining her back. 

“You haven’t been yourself,” Nayeon starts. Her eyes are dark, critical. “And don’t give me this Sana bullshit again.” 

“I’ve been exactly myself,” Momo mutters. She doesn’t want to be loud. She doesn’t want to be worse than she has to be. “I do what you and Sana tell me to, like always.” 

“If you’re unhappy you can leave.” 

Momo swallows thickly. “And go where?” 

“Fight the bloodbenders like you want to. Or run off and burn the South Pole into the sea. Hunt Sana down and scream at her.” The blaze at her back burns hotter. Sympathetically, Momo wants to burn too. 

“Tell me to,” she whispers. “Tell me to and I will.” 

“You were just saying you aren’t a dog, and now you’re asking me to —” 

“I’m so confused, Nayeonie.” Momo can’t help the whimper. She can’t help the term of endearment either. Anything to call Nayeon back, not this unfamiliar Fire Lord, not the line of fire, but just the warmth that used to be there. “I know where Sana is. But I can’t leave yet, because—” 

Momo stops herself. It’s unsayable. She hasn’t rehearsed this. Hasn’t even believed she’d have a chance. 

“Because you never got an ending,” Nayeon finishes. It’s all the mercy Momo could have hoped for. 

“It’s not that I still —”

“Don’t say it,” Nayeon whispers through a smile. “Don’t break my heart again.” 

All the strength in Momo’s body is rerouted to not asking the selfish question, the humiliating question, of ‘Did I really?’ 

“Regardless of anything,” Nayeon continues, “we never said goodbye like we should have. I let Sana take you away from me, and I hated her for that. Hated so I could stop loving her. But, with you, I — we never had a chance to —”

“Don’t say it.”

But Nayeon is brave. “I never got the chance to tell you the truth.” 

“Sana did. About your uncle. And how he made you —”

“He didn’t make me.” Nayeon looks down at her lap. “I’m surprised Sana’s version was that generous to me..” 

“Sana is complicated.”

Nayeon finally laughs. It’s a better thing to fill the throne room with than flames. “Did she at least tell you that I did truly, truly want you?” 

“She didn’t need to tell me that.”Momo gulps. “You didn’t manipulate me. I’m not that stupid. I knew but I still chose you, again and again.” 

In a fluid, familiar motion Nayeon leans forward, her hands cupping Momo’s cheeks. But whereas, years ago, this action might be possessive, might even be a little harsh, now she’s gentle. Like she isn’t holding something in submission so it won’t bite her back. 

“We’ve always belonged to different people, Momo.” Her smile doesn’t match the sadness of the words. “We should go be with them.” 

Momo turns her head to press a last kiss, the one they never got to have, against Nayeon’s wrist.

“I’ll burn them all.” 

Nayeon smiles as she stands, then leans against the statue of the dragon to open a hidden door to the tunnels. “But we won’t make the same mistakes we did last time.” 

“It already is,” Momo says, watching as her friend folds into the darkness. The nostalgia of it makes the already constant fever heat of Momo’s body swell. “After all, the Fire Lord is dead.” 

Tzuyu sits cross-legged in front of Chaeyoung as the warrior paints her face. 

First, the white. Everywhere. 

Then, stark red across the eyes. Just like the tattoo beneath. 

A black line to trace the red. 

Finally, a smear of maroon across the lips. 

This is a component of the ‘confuse everyone’ phase. Chaeyoung’s idea was that, if the guards and maids noticed that the tall archer was no longer present, it could create a useful set of rumors to agitate the spy. 

The warrior finishes with a delighted smile, then turns Tzuyu’s shoulders to face the mirror. “How’s that?”

“I don’t look like myself.” 

“That’s the point.” Chaeyoung repacks her wooden box of brushes and vials. The pendant sits at the bottom again. 

“You don’t make sense,” Tzuyu says. Half to the mirror. Half to the girl beside her. 

“Well, it’s Kyoshi tradition for—”

“I understand. That’s why you don’t make sense.” 

“You’re going to have to explain that one, Tzuyu.” As always when they’re alone, Chaeyoung is light-hearted. Like they get to be young together. 

“You left an organization to join another one. And you hate organizations.” 

Chaeyoung hums. “That’s a black and white way to look at it. Maybe, to you, it seems like I haven’t really been true to myself, like I’ve just been stuck on a loop.” 

“Not exactly,” Tzuyu mutters. She hadn’t meant for Chaeyoung to be harsh on herself. 

“Believe it or not I didn’t join the Dai Li to overthrow kings. Just like I’m sure you didn’t become a Yuyan Archer to shoot bunnies.” 

“I didn’t have a choice.” Tzuyu glances back at her yellow eyes. “It’s what I was supposed to be.” 

“I mean, I was born an earthbender, but that doesn’t mean I have to throw boulders around all day.” 

“It’s different,” Because Tzuyu’s trying to believe it. Nayeon had maybe the hardest birthright of them all, and she had stayed. If the Fire Lord could carry their burden, then Tzuyu could — 

“There’s always a choice. Like right now. You chose to come back.” 

“Admiral Jihyo told me —” 

“Jihyo asked you.” Chaeyoung bumps their shoulders together playfully. “And you said yes.” 

“Well, I — I have to.” Tzuyu doesn’t know how to explain it to Chaeyoung. The other woman might frown on the years in prison, on Nayeon’s inaction, but it was the only time Tzuyu had felt that another person cared for her as anything other than a pair of arms attached to a bow and arrow Even if it was just a peach passed between the bars of her cell, it was more than anyone else had given her. 

“You want to,” the warrior corrects. “That’s what makes it right.” 

The fireplace gently laps at cracked wood. 

Mina smiles into the next kiss, the calm warmth of Nayeon’s body washing through her. 

Her hands are tucked beneath Nayeon’s shirt, thumbs brushing against the skin at her sides. Beneath her, Nayeon is alive. Her blood hums the precious, impermanent harmony that Mina, in this moment alone, feels meant to preserve. 

Nayeon’s mouth is warm, but Mina thinks of the ice. Its short life. Nayeon’s smile around it, though her eyes had been wide and wondering and —

“Mina,” Nayeon breathes. “Someone’s coming.” 

The Water Tribe girl stiffens, training her ear. There are footsteps outside the door, and then a quick knock. 

“We’re like teenagers,” Nayeon whispers when Mina sits up. “Sneaking around in —”

There’s another knock. 

“You need to go,” Mina scolds, still keeping her voice low as she rises. Nayeon snatches her by the wrist, quickly smoothing down her hair, and then hurrying to the hidden door beside the dresser. 

“I’ll go over to Jeongyeon’s room. Come visit me.”

“Only if you protect me from Jihyo’s pai sho mania.” 

When the hidden door closes behind the Fire Lord, Mina opens the bedroom door. A guard stands there, tapping his foot impatiently. 

“I’m sorry, I —”

“Where’s the Fire Lord?” 

“I’m not sure.” Mina recites, as Chaeyoung had told her to. “I haven’t seen her all day.” 

“Apparently no one has,” he huffs. “Maybe she finally made a run for it.” 

“Nayeon wouldn’t —” 

“Well, we just got attacked again so it would be nice if she could do her job.” 

Mina tenses. This isn’t right. “Where?” 

“Ember Island. Not that it matters to you.” The guard turns on his heel, stalking back down the hallway. 

“She — she might be with the admiral,” Mina calls after him. That isn’t part of Chaeyoung’s protocol, but maybe Jihyo would know what to do. 

She shuts the door. It does little to block the new barrage of anxieties that, without the comfort of Nayeon, begin to fester in Mina’s head. 

She sinks into an armchair across from the fireplace, listening to the fractures that heat cut into the wood, then the heartbeat behind the wall. 

The smile is instinctual at this point. Mina rises, walking to the hidden door and laying her hand delicately on the wall. 

“Missed me, huh,” she teases, pushing slightly so the panel pops open. 

No. It’s not Nayeon’s heartbeat. It’s too slow. 

“Hey Mina.” Momo’s voice is hoarse, echoing out from the dark of the tunnel. “Is Nayeonie here?” 

“No.” 

“Oh.” Momo shuffles forward, into the firelight. “Well. You’ll tell her I came by, right?” 

Mina doesn’t try to temper the cold cut of her voice. “I’m sure you can —” 

“I wanted to say something to you, too.” The firebender won’t look up from the tips of her boots. “The other night. The way I acted. That isn’t — I overreacted.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“You were scared of me.” Momo slumps against the rough stones of the tunnel. 

“I’m not, Momo.” Mina almost laughs. What is it with firebenders, oscillating between displays of anger and then reverting to such an aching tenderness? 

“Okay,” Momo whispers. “I’ll go now.” 

Mina doesn’t wait for her to turn before shutting the hidden door. 

Tzuyu stands on a parapet of the palace, scanning the woods below. The lockdown started hours ago, and so far no one has made a run for it — innocently or otherwise. 

It’s better to keep an eye on a trio of deer as they weave through the oaks and pines.

The Kyoshi make-up feels sticky, heavy on her face. The majority of her willpower is being channeled into not bringing the sleeve of her robe up to wipe it away from her eyes. 

The deer fluster, suddenly cantering away from the wall. 

Animals are so mindful. 

Tzuyu scans the perimeter, then the rest of the platform. There are footsteps, a single person, now climbing the — 

“Tzuyu,” Momo calls, smiling. 

She greets the firebender with only a nod, stiffening when the woman continues to walk the length of the wall so that they’re face to face. 

“I like your —” Momo gestures to Tzuyu’s face. “That.” 

“Momo, you shouldn’t be up, Chaeyoung wants—” 

“You’ll protect Nayeonie for me, right?” 

Before Tzuyu can say anything, Momo presses a kiss to her cheek. When she draws back, there’s a slight smear of white across her mouth. 

“You — are you trying to leave?” 

Momo smirks as she lifts the bottom of her shirt to wipe away the make-up on her lips. “You can’t really stop me.” 

With that, Momo hops over the wall, using the stones to skid down to a surprisingly graceful landing in the soft padding of grass below. 

“Momo.” Tzuyu snaps. “You can’t —” 

“Keep an eye on Mina, okay?” 

It’s automatic, to draw the string of the bow across her chest, to steady her heart and aim the arrow. 

Maybe it’s that Momo is too fast. 

Maybe it’s that the arrow isn’t right. 

Maybe it’s that Tzuyu doesn’t want it. Not like this. 

The archer turns, making her own dash into the depths of the palace to tell Chaeyoung. 

Momo rushes through the woods, heart pounding. 

The collar and leash that had been holding her in such a tight circle for the last years of her life was burned away when Nayeon sank back into the darkness like the dragon a Fire Lord is meant to be. 

She had never been given the chance to truly end things with Nayeon. She and Sana had, as a unit, but between the three of them there were variables and clashes and feelings that couldn’t be resolved any other way. 

This must have been Sana’s purpose. To let Momo go so she could fix things with Nayeon. And now it’s a choice to go back. To run home. 

Momo loves the feeling of the fresh, night air slicing past her face. The sound of her boots on the alley cobblestones as she weaves through the city. The glare of the moon on the ocean as she comes to the docks. 

Momo gets on a ship and sails to Sana and they embrace and make love in the grass and everything is as it was meant to be. As it belongs, in the great arc that has bent them together like the sun strings the branches of a sycamore. 

Except none of that will happen. 

On the wooden docks below the palace, Momo’s heart stops beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> We take a refreshing little break with Sana.


	14. sana alone

On the first day, Sana went to the mountains. 

All she had was the robe on her back, her ring, and a bag of coins she had stolen from Jeongyeon’s room. 

She would pay it back. 

She had to make promises like that, to herself. 

It took three days to hike to the village in the valley. She paid for a few rolls of parchment and a pen, and then sat down at one of the taverns to write the first letter to Momo. 

It was short. 

‘I’m safe, and if you are too, then stay where you are.’ 

She went further up the mountain, to where a fortress had once been. Technically speaking, it was still there, but the wood was burned black and brittle. It still held the aura of smoke and slaughter. 

It was hard to know which of the graves was Momo’s sister or mother or father, so Sana spent her day in the woods gathering fireweed flowers and laid a bushel on each of the two-hundred marks cut into the earth. 

She knelt in front of the final headstone, her whole body aching. A wind had drawn through the forest and Sana breathed with it. 

‘I visited your family,’ Sana writes to Momo that night, ‘but I’m leaving now, so don’t come. Maybe I came here first because I knew that even if you guessed, you wouldn’t follow me. It’s okay. I talked to them. I told them how you feel. I think they forgive you, Momoring. The forest is finally blooming again. You made it more beautiful than it was.’ 

Sana doesn’t write out what she said in the woods, to Momo’s family of ghosts. That she was sorry for taking Momo away all those years, that she had tried to protect her, that she had failed again and again. 

The next day Sana is in the valley’s village again. It rains all day, and she sits in the tavern, listening to the conversations of people who have never done as much evil as she has. 

She writes again. ‘Yesterday I said you made the forest more beautiful than it was. You made me that way, too.’ 

For the next week, Sana takes carriage after carriage to the edge of the mainland. She writes every day. 

In a badlands tavern, she watches as people lean into each other. Their mouths sour with ale, as if it doesn’t matter at all. 

Sana still feels the shape of Mina’s lips on her own, like a brand in a furnace then pressed to skin. She wants Momo to heal her again. To take the burn of it out. 

Weaknesses like Mina’s have a way of emanating, of tainting what they touch. 

All of that is too harsh to put into a letter. 

Instead, Sana writes, ‘Do you remember the first time? And every one after that? I think I do.’ 

Sana watches the people in the tavern. Everyone’s red-cheeked and blubbering. Arguments start and fade out like tides. 

One man knocks over his cup of ale but the liquid doesn’t splash. 

Empty?

No. He lifts it to his mouth and takes a long swig. 

When the tavern closes two hours later, Sana slides from her stool to follow him into the night. 

He stumbles through the woods before curling up in a riverbank and falling asleep. 

Sana waits. She’s waited so long, to wait for dawn is nothing. 

The waterbender wakes with the heel of Sana’s boot pressed against his back, blocking his chi. 

“Morning,” he spits into the dirt. 

“I’m sorry we have to talk this way,” Sana starts, “but —”

“Lady, I’m sleeping in the woods. All my golds been stolen already.” 

Sana frowns. “Why didn’t you kill them?”

The man cackles, body heaving up against Sana’s boot. “Kill a robber? You firebenders are another breed, I’ve gotta tell ya.” 

“A bloodbender with morals, that’s not something —” 

“Don’t say that,” he hisses. “Bad word. Bad thing.”

Sana lifts off of the man’s back and he pants in relief, scrambling toward the thin creek to scoop water into his mouth. 

“Tell me about them,” she calls to him. It’s probably best now to keep some distance, just in case. 

“Not much to say,” the man grumbles. “Bunch of freaks.”

“So it’s not common for a waterbender to also be a bloodbender?” 

“No, no. Freaks. Though —” the man turns. His face is grizzled. There’s a smudge of a burn on his cheek. “It started because people were starving, y’know. Hard to hunt. So they’d go out for the full moon and just twist the animals up.” 

“The full moon,” Sana leads. 

“Can’t bloodbend during the day,” the man laughs with his whole chest. “Any dumb kid can get the job done with a full moon. But there are some real freaks I’ve heard of that can do it with just a crescent.” 

Sana tosses him a few pieces of gold out of Jeongyeon’s bag. 

When she gets back to the village, she writes it all down for Momo.

The bag of coins gets lighter and lighter, until there’s a single piece of silver left. It’s not enough for the ferry. 

‘Darling,’ Sana writes, ‘you’ll buy me another ring, right?’ 

On Ember Island, Sana hikes the dunes to Nayeon’s beach house. Everything is as she and Momo left it. Fruit flies swarm the carcass of a half-eaten peach left in the bedroom. 

Sana loots the drawers for more coins, a few extra robes. 

She sits in the courtyard and writes. 

‘I’m somewhere I can’t stand to be without you. I’m not saying that because I want you to come running, but because I want to talk about it. If you’ll listen. Nayeonie gave us —’

Sana balls up the parchment, casting it down to the stone-laid ground. 

She rewrites the first few sentences. Then, ‘Nayeon gave us everything we have. I’m not unthankful. It’s just that I thought the price for peace was only our bodies. If you would give your’s, and I gave mine, I thought that would be it. I thought that was terrible enough to be true. But fires always want more.’

Sana takes a deep breath. 

‘Those days we spent on the island together were all I ever wanted. But you were unhappy, Momo. That broke my heart.’ 

Distantly, the sea is entangled in itself. 

‘I wonder if there’s anywhere we could be happy at the same time.’ 

She dips her brush in more black ink. 

‘Not that I’m particularly happy right now. And I’m probably making you suffer, which unfortunately, you will forgive me for. You are always so gentle, even when you’re hurting. Or maybe you’re always gentle and always hurting.’

Sana takes a deep breath. 

‘I love you. It feels silly coming up with so many ways to say that.’ 

Sana gently blows the ink dry. 

She rents a room at an inn. For the next few days, there’s less and less to write about. Finally, she writes, ‘I’m on Ember Island. Whenever you’re ready, I am too.’ 

Momo doesn’t come. Not the next day, or the day after that. 

Sana writes anyways. Not to beg. Not even to mention it again. 

Two days later, Sana sits in a rented room. The window is open to let in the breeze of a coming storm. A messenger hawk waits on the sill. 

She spent the afternoon watching the ferry come in and out, all the incoming tourists excited and the outgoing ones dragging their sandals. 

Now that the sun is setting, the last ferry is drifting on the horizon. Sana leans against the window frame, watching the thicket dark clouds coil above. 

‘A storm is coming in,’ she decides, not sure what else to write.

There’s another boat. No. Boats. Bigger than sail ships, fast, tearing through the water at an unnatural pace. 

A great wave is drawn up from the sea, and then — 

Sana scrambles for her brush and ink. 

When the screams start, all Sana has time to write is ‘They’re here.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> I really can't tell you.


	15. the cannibal

The first time Mina hurt someone she was too young to understand it.

Too young to even really remember. 

She knows it was a tantrum, not unlike any five-year-old might have. But when she wailed and kicked her mother’s heart choked on blood and that was it. 

Everything after was more stark. The extra walls of ice built around her. The people that would come with food and nothing else. She remembers the forced architecture of fear on their faces. 

When the seasons changed and the Pole entered six months of darkness, her father finally came to see her. She doesn’t remember him saying anything, though he must have. But she can still see the piece of paper in front of her, spelling out her name below an unfamiliar one. It wasn’t really a contract to marry Nayeon, but to kill her. 

For the first five years, she lived with the slow rhythm of the sun and the moon. When the sun was out, she was allowed to pass through the walls of the palace. When it wasn’t, she stayed in her room. 

On the coldest nights, with numb fingers, she would strike at flint with a dinner knife until the sparks sprayed out and the heat in her fireplace wrapped itself around her. 

Fire was the only alive thing that could bear to be near her. 

She’d talk to the flames, watch as they laughed and leaned and danced. Whenever she tried to touch them, her hand just passed through the blaze. Like it wasn’t really there at all.

When she was ten, she began to train. Not like the other children, who spiked icicles and flung trails of water at each other. She went out to hunt at night with two guards, their hands always ready for their knives. She stopped the otterpenguin’s heart beneath the ice, the yak in the pine forest, the snow rat that scattered in the alleys of a city she had never been allowed into. 

She could do it during a full moon or a crescent. It didn’t matter. She felt the tides of blood rise toward the moon in every body around her, calling out, begging to be held. 

None of that really matters now. 

The last time Mina hurt someone was five minutes ago. 

Which means it’s about time to restart Momo’s heart. 

The firebender, the prodigy, the human, is tied to the mast of the sailboat Mina commandeered from the capital’s docks. 

Mina rakes up her sleeves and hooks Momo’s blood, heaving it through the girl’s veins until her heart finally begins to weakly pulse again. She coughs and gasps, eyes wild. 

As soon as her eyes lock with Mina’s, the waterbender pushes a balled up handkerchief in her mouth. 

“If you burn that, you’ll hurt yourself.” Mina chews her tongue thoughtfully as Momo’s eyes widen. “You can tell when food is too hot, can’t you?” 

Momo muffles something high-pitched against the cloth. 

Mina smiles. Then it’s true. She had almost believed that Momo was faking all the times she burned her tongue on hot stew at dinners, but —

Smoke flushes from the folds of the handkerchief. 

Mina immediately presses her thumb harshly against the pressure point on Momo’s neck, snatching the burning cloth out of her mouth as soon as her chi is blocked. 

“You’d really do anything for her,” Mina sighs. None of this would have had to happen if Sana stayed. 

“I’m not the spy,” Momo pleads, even as the muscles in her neck slacken so that Mina has to hold her head in her hands. “You have to believe me, I would never —”

“I know, Momo.” Mina resists the urge to smile. 

A new hopelessness dawns in the irises of Momo’s usually owl-ish eyes. 

“You—”

“Let’s not waste our time with this.” Mina pulls back, letting Momo’s head fall back against the mast, then roll off to the side. It’ll be a good way to tell when her chi is no longer blocked. 

“Where are—”

“Just off the coast.” 

Momo can’t see it from her angle, but the capital cities lights are rusted against the night. Just far enough away. 

“I really thought your blood would burn me when I bent it,” Mina laughs to herself. That was a childish superstition, but with all the tall tales about Momo she did flicker with the slightest hesitation before she squeezed her heart shut. “But you’re really just a person.” 

Just as temporary as any of them. Some miracle of blood and guts that, at some point, can’t hold even itself together. 

Mina thinks of Nayeon, whose heart is so constantly trembling in her chest. Like the rabbit in the moon. Like the thing Mina is meant to break in her own hands. 

“You’re alive right now for one reason,” Mina begins, hoping her voice will carry through this. “Nayeon needs you.”

“Nayeon let me go,” Momo almost snarls.

“Because she doesn’t know what’s about to happen.” Mina shivers, even though the breeze is warm. “I— Momo, I didn’t know it would all— it’s so much faster than it’s supposed to be.” 

The look on Momo’s face is so withering that Mina worries the sailboat might burn anyways. “You’re a traitor.” 

“I am,” Mina nods. “But not the way you think I am.”

“You told them about my forest fire,” Momo spits. “Jihyo almost died.”

“I had to buy time—” 

“To what? Murder all my friends? _Nayeon’s_ friends?” 

“The bloodbenders wouldn’t trust me if I didn’t give them something.” Mina hates that she’s pleading with this undead girl. “I knew Jihyo could—”

Momo begins to curse under her breath erratically. 

“What? Is it your heart?” Mina tries to tune out the ocean, its depth, and instead focus on the blood in Momo’s body. It’s all heat. It’s all pain. She’s about to reach out, to offer to heal her again but with the speed of an enraged animal Momo’s arms unlink from the mast, a wave of flames pushing outward. 

Mina quickly brings up her own barrier of ice, which sizzles and fractures from the licks of fire. 

Steel handcuffs drip off Momo’s wrists. Momo winces slightly, wiping away the molten metal from her skin. 

A miscalculation. 

“The bloodbenders are coming.” Mina blocks another set of bursts. “And we both need to be alive to stop them.” 

“This needs to start making sense,” Momo hisses, “quickly.” 

Mina lowers her hands, waiting for Momo to do the same before she begins. “The plan was to take little stretches of Fire Nation land month by month. Then, when we had enough control, I would kill Nayeonie. But I’m not going to. Even now. I — I can’t.” 

“I’m supposed to believe you,” Momo laughs derisively. 

It’s impossible to prove that you love someone. That’s the tragedy. Mina could tell Momo about her fire girl or the mazes of ice or Nayeon’s precious heartbeat beneath her hands or the rabbit in the moon. 

But those are just words.

A dream of words. 

They’d mean nothing to someone like Momo, who would burn her mouth open to be with Sana. Who would vault over the palace walls and run through the woods, who would take a mountain and her family with it just for one spark out of millions. 

“Ember Island is supposed to be the last thing the bloodenders take, but clearly the plan has changed without me. When it was attacked a week ago—” 

“Wait.” Momo is pale. “You’re wrong. Sana’s on Ember Island. If there was an attack she would have—”

“Sana stopped sending you letters a week ago,” Mina whispers. 

“No. She didn’t. I got one this morning.”

“For the last seven days, you’ve been getting letters from me.” 

“That’s not—” 

“I forged her handwriting.” This is it. This is when Momo kills her. “I wrote the one about kissing Sana to test if you’d believe it was her.” And maybe as a way of telling the truth. Whatever part of it she could. 

Mina waits for Momo’s raised fist, for a burn to sear through her body. To be as unreal and unalive as the sycamore that Mina’s messenger hawk always landed on, extending its talons to Momo in that vile cycle. 

But Momo doesn’t move. 

“I had to— I couldn’t let you leave, when they— they’re coming, Momo. The palace just learned about Ember Island, which means the bloodbenders must have moved on from it and let the Fire Nation—” There’s no use hiding it now. “Find the bodies.” 

“You’re sick,” Momo finally says, but there’s no bite to it. Just exhaustion. Mina can feel the grief flooding Momo’s heart like blood turned black. 

“This is what we’re meant for.” Mina pushes past her own sobs. She doesn’t deserve them. “When Sana told me—”

“You don’t get to say her name.”

Mina burdens on. This is important.“When she told me about meeting you, I thought— we’re so alike, Momo. We’ve always been weapons to the people who should have cared for us. They hate us for what we can do, and love us for it in the same breath.”

“Sana only loves me.”

It strikes both of them at the same time — _loved_.

“I’ll kill all of them.” Momo’s eyes are closed, face turned up toward the ailing light of the moon. “You’ll be last. That’s the only thing I’ll promise.” The slightest smile twitches at Momo’s lips. “But first, I’m going to go to Ember Island and cremate her like she wanted. And then we’ll always...” Momo’s voice tapers off to a whisper. That’s probably for the best. There are some things Mina shouldn’t know. 

“Okay.” 

It’s so empty to say, but that’s the only thing left. 

With that, Mina runs across the waves, ice splintering at each footstep as she races up wave after wave. 

When Mina washes up on the beach, muscles screaming in relief as shards of sand biting her knees, the weight of her body becomes too much. 

She lays in the surf, saltwater tearing at the cuts on her legs, and it strikes her again, like it has so many times over the last few weeks, that she can’t go back. Every change, every modulation in her plan, felt like the point of no return but now she’s actually reached it. Getting on the ship with Jeongyeon, walking into the palace, kissing Sana, every second with Nayeon, sending the letter to the bloodbenders about burning the forest, sending the letters to Momo — but this was it. Someone knew the truth. The unlovable, ugly truth. Someone who she couldn’t bear to kill. 

Violence is supposed to be a weakness. An option for people who couldn’t think or reason. But it was so easy, so natural to twist the heart of a person until it couldn’t breathe anymore. 

Sometimes, when the hopelessness ensnares her, Mina likes to think it’s unfair. That the thing she’s best at, that the thing maybe she was born for, is such a hideous talent. Just like Momo’s. 

She should have killed the firebender. She should have pretended a stopped heart was really the end. If she had just waited another fifteen minutes, let Momo lie there cold and breathless, it would be irreversible. The people in the palace would believe that Momo was the spy. They would find the ship and think that the firebender met the same end as the traitor at the fortress. 

It might even have been merciful. More kind than the truth. 

With Sana gone, Momo will be like a stray dog. Mina’s only hope is that she’ll destroy herself before she can destroy Mina. 

Though Mina knows she’ll deserve it.

Maybe that’s the happy ending. Momo’s the hero. Momo will be the one to kill the villain, save the princess from the evil bloodbender, get the vengeance. 

Mina looks to the white, blameless face of the moon for comfort. There’s the rabbit, curled around itself. 

It’s harder to sneak back into the palace than Mina expected. 

The Kyoshi Warriors were useless to stop Momo, but now they swarm around like flies. Hasn’t everyone already realized it’s useless? They’re part of the carcass, not its scavengers. 

She bends their necks away so she can pass through, into the capillaries of the palace, following the halls to the bedroom. 

Nayeon is there, on the bed. Not sleeping. The sheets stretch over her, white like a floe of ice on the sea.

“Hey baby,” she greets mindlessly, glancing up from the sheets of paper in her lap with an easy smile. Then her eyes go impossibly soft. “What’s wrong? Have you — you’ve been crying.” 

Mina can’t choke out a denial. 

Nayeon rushes her, folding her into a tight hug. “It’s okay, we’ll take back Ember Island. We’ll save them.” 

She feels like a child again, crying helplessly, incoherently onto someone else’s skin. It’s like the tantrum that killed her mother. Something so inexpressible it feels like the only way to—

“Oh, baby, we’re going to be okay,” Nayeon murmurs against her ear. “Jihyo’s taking the fleet to Ember Island right now.” 

Momo is gone.

Jihyo is gone.

Sana is — she can’t even think it. 

They have nothing but a few sleep-deprived guards and the Kyoshi Warriors to defend against a hundred bloodbenders. 

Somehow the clarity of doom is what stops her tears. She sniffles against Nayeon’s hair, then carefully withdraws. 

Maybe it would be merciful to kill Nayeon now. It would be a better death than what’s to come for both of them. 

“Let’s sleep.” Nayeon presses a kiss to her forehead. 

They ease into bed, Nayeon curled protectively around her. 

Cheek against the pillow, Mina stares into the fireplace. The flames there dim around a beaten log, but still. Fire, always cannibalizing itself. Alive only for as long as it can feed off something else. 

That night, Mina dreams only of telling Nayeon everything. From her mother to Momo, every person she’s hurt, every decision she’s made, laid out with the simplicity of a conviction. 

It’s a dream of words. 

It means nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm proud of some parts of this and sorta eh on others. lmk what you thinkkkk
> 
> Next time:
> 
> The Battle of Ember Island.


	16. a light that never goes out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some...hopefully poetic violence. idk if it's really all that graphic but there's a rampage.

The first night, most of the people on Ember Island die. 

For eight hours, Sana sits in silence in the tunnels beneath Nayeon’s beach palace. Some others, maids and guards who knew about the hiding spot, are there with their spouses and children.

The miracle is that it rains all night, in heavy sheets laid against the metal of the roof. It’s a perfect cloak for the natural chorus of their joined heartbeats, which otherwise would have sung to the bloodbenders. 

Sana can’t tell if she sleeps. It’s pitch black, but her mind is desperate, rushing through a maze whose only instruction is to survive. 

It barely matters that the sun is rising. There are maybe twenty people who can fight. 

It barely matters that the moon has fallen. There are maybe two-hundred waterbenders waiting. 

“We’ll starve,” one of the guards wails when Sana says they shouldn’t leave. Shouldn’t fight. They have enough water for a few days if no one is greedy. 

“It takes forty-five days to starve to death,” Sana murmurs. She knows. She saw it, during the war, when all the crops burned. Of course she ate well at Nayeon’s side. But the poor always suffer the most, even when they’re on the winning side. 

“So we wait forty-five days?” 

“We wait one.” Sana tells them, leaning her head back against the jagged rough of the tunnel. “Momo is coming.” 

They all know Momo’s name. Either as a hero or a murderer. It's the same thing, in the end. 

“You’re friends with her?”

It’s still dark. No one can see Sana smile. “Kind of.” 

But the footsteps in the beach palace are not Momo’s. 

The voices of men emanate above the floorboards. 

“Keep yourselves calm,” Sana hisses at the other people in the tunnel. Together, all these strangers begin to breathe in sync, linking their hands. Hopefully their pulses align. 

For two days, there is nothing. 

Momo doesn’t come. 

She isn’t, Sana realizes. The messenger hawk didn’t make it. 

There are sparse developments above the floorboards. Sana’s ear adjusts to the near silence, but their voices are still muffled. 

“I wish we could burn this,” one says. Of what, Sana wonders. The portrait of Nayeon and her family in the great room? The letters Momo kept from her sister, stored up in a dresser drawer? Maybe the sheets on their bed. 

It had never really been Sana’s house, she knows that, but it was a home. More than the academy or the palace ever was. There’s a vision of Momo in every room, her silhouette against the morning light of every window. 

“We can,” another voice huffs. 

There’s a scrape of metal, an ugly sound, and then— 

Fire. 

There’s no light in the tunnel. It was too much of a risk, even to have a flame in their hands as they stumbled in. 

Sana can’t see any better now, but the fire’s warmth spreads out, fills the room above her. She puts her mind to that heat, feels the shape of the two men in the room. 

“There’s only a couple,” one of the maids whispers beside Sana. “We could take them.” 

“Not now.”

“Momo isn’t coming,” a guard breathes. 

“We aren’t waiting for Momo anymore,” Sana hums. “We’re waiting for rain.” 

They sit in silence and hunger for two more days. Sana knows them all without having seen their faces before. She knows who has the boniest elbows, who has the softest voice.

Sana tells them everything she knows about bloodbenders. About the moon. Just in case her plan doesn’t work, at least they’ll have the information to come up with something better. 

On the sixth night, a waterbender starts a fire with flint and steel in her old bedroom. To sleep in her bed. It took this long for the waterbenders’ sleep schedules to align again. 

On the sixth night, there is rain.

Sana slips through the tunnel, carefully stepping over the legs of her companions.

It’s taken this long for her eyes to adjust perfectly to total darkness. 

She delicately pushes against the hidden door at the end of the tunnel, raising herself up to the floor, and it begins. 

Fire is so much more than a flame. It’s heat. It’s a life. It’s energy in its simplest, most carnal form. It’s as hungry as Sana is. 

But there’s something even more similar to the static cramps twisting through her stomach. So when that emptiness strikes against itself, when the electric serpent curls around her arms and it’s tongue lashes from her fingers, when lightning finds its natural partner in the body sleeping in her bed, Sana is no less hungry. But it still feels good. 

It doesn’t matter that the moon is out, that Nayeon’s beach palace windows are now flashing with a blinding light. The electricity shivers in every cell of Sana’s body. It alights the rain in a thousand impulses. When a waterbender tries to reroute her blood in her body, the jolt resonates through his skull. 

And it goes on like this. Sana counts in her head, to five, to twenty, to a hundred. 

She takes her only break in the town, pulling fruits from where vendors abandoned them. The juice runs down her chin. Her clothes are sopping wet, pitted against her sunken, malnourished frame. 

There are a hundred more to kill. It isn’t easy, but it’s fast. Every tendril of water that cuts at her suddenly becomes just another extension of the lightning, providing the perfect channel to clench their heart. 

She’s sure some of the waterbenders have children. Have their own Momo’s. It takes too much energy to care.

When the sun finally rises over the horizon, it forgives Sana. It forgives a woman laying in the sand, panting, surrounded by a human forest, all struck white and black. 

That’s the divinity of lightning. It’s no one’s fault. It’s fate and punishment and Sana is just a lowly vector. 

Sana lays there for hours, waiting for the errant sparks to dissipate from her skin. But with every new pump of blood from her heart to her hands the static thrills across her veins. 

It would be dangerous to go back. To be near anyone. 

A shadow passes over the sun, a silhouette that holds Sana in a merciful coolness. She would know that shape on any mountain. 

Momo reaches down, a hand extended. It’s an offer to get up. It’s an offer to take away all the sparks still stinging Sana’s skin. It’s an apology and forgiveness and Sana takes it all. 

In the morning, Jihyo docks at Ember Island. 

She had been a few times before, not for vacations but to escort Nayeon. Still, it had been a nice place. An oasis from politics and posturing. 

But this is instantly, obviously wrong. From a distance, she can see people littered on the beaches, but not as sunbathers or swimmers. 

She knew it would be too late, but there was still work to be done. Names to write down, bodies to burn, graves to carve. If she couldn’t save them, at least she could give them this.

She splits sets her soldiers out with shovels, and then begins to walk through the wreckage. There are burned houses, so at least people tried. At least some of them were able to have something honorable, instead of a forced heart attack, a lung twisted to choke its twin. 

Why did Momo and Sana betray them for this? All the fear Jihyo has felt in the past weeks has been reshaped to a stormcloud of anger. Had Nayeon not already given them everything? 

She was so stupid. To watch Momo write those letters every day, and to think that they were just collecting dust in a drawer. To think that Sana had just gone on a soul-searching trip, instead of giving everything to a new king. 

Nayeon’s beach palace, luckily, seems generally undamaged. The doors are kicked in, but there are no burn marks.

She walks through the foyer, to a room with two bodies. They’re in furs — waterbenders. They haven’t been dead more than a day, by the shade of their eyes, and they weren’t burned. Mutiny, maybe. 

She looks through the kitchen, the guest rooms. It’s empty. 

The master bedroom, however, is not empty. Two figures, fully-clothed lay on top of the sheets. Curled around each other. 

Her heart sinks low in her chest to know it’s Sana and Momo. To know that this might be the singular chance to —

It’s natural, to find the electric currents beneath her own skin and channel them out through her fingers. It’s one of the only things that can hurt Momo. It’s one of the only — 

Sana sits up. Her eyes are wild. She catches the lightning by its wrist, the charge redirecting to shatter the window. 

In the barrage of curses and accusations that fly between Jihyo and Sana, Momo finally rises, rubbing at her eyes. 

“What’s —”

“Jihyo tried to kill you.”

“You traitorous pieces of—”

“Okay, enough.” Momo yawns, though her dark eyes are trained on Jihyo, who stiffens. Even in a rage, she isn’t stupid. “We all need to have a conversation.” 

Sana sits on the bed, listening dutifully as Momo tells Jihyo everything Sana heard the night before. About who Mina really is, and what she’s capable of. Momo and Jihyo are holding hands, a closed circuit of comfort and understanding flowing between the two women as freely as rivers run south. Maybe because now they’ve both survived it. 

Sana had explained to Momo the uncomfortable, incongruent pace of her heart when Mina had kissed her. The release of tension she felt when the girl began to sob. 

“It reminded me of you,” Sana had murmured into Momo’s hair. “You before me.” 

But Momo is stubborn. Now, in the bedroom, she tells Jihyo that “Something like Mina shouldn’t exist.”

It’s all the self-hatred Momo has suffered through finally turned away, a lighthouse beam swiveling out to the dark unknowable sea. It’s easier to hate the thing you’re afraid of. It’s maybe the only reason to. 

“Mina is on our side,” Sana points out, unable to stand it any longer. “In a convoluted way, yes, but she is valuable.” 

“You trust her? After what she did to me?” There’s a pout on Momo’s face. That little pinnacle is enough for Sana to breathe in relief. 

“And me,” Jihyo adds, gathering her hair back up into a high ponytail. 

“And me,” Sana smiles. “My point is that we don’t have to punish anyone. They’ll do it for themselves.” 

The world is begging to be destroyed by its own organs, fire and lightning and blood setting its canyons against the flesh of the earth. 

“Mina will save her.” Sana thinks of the serene, moon-faced girl. How transparent she was in the moments of slight, restrained affection that Sana offered her, all while begging for someone else’s body.

“I won’t lie to Nayeon,” Jihyo sighs. “That’s a nice sentiment, Sana, but I won’t — I’m not leaving this in the hands of a traitor.” 

Sana nods. She expected as much. She just wanted to say it outloud, like there’s some karmic weight to it that might help the girl. That girl in a foreign palace, all her secrets folded tight inside her chest, their poison needling through her veins. 

‘Fight like I did,’ Sana wants to say to her. 

All she can hope is that there will be another chance before Momo and Jihyo ash everything away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sana martyr sana saint sana pope 
> 
> i know it's kinda short but everyone's just gotta get up to speed 
> 
> Next time:
> 
> The truth sets you free.


	17. the same river twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: there’s some brief self-harm ideation in this chapter. i think it’s basically in line with the tone of the story so far and does not register as actual action, but if things like that bother you please skip this! i’m sure you can find spoilers for everything else hh

The bed is too warm with the sheets over her body and too cold without them. Nayeon twists, her skin shining with sweat, trapped in the loom of knowing she has to sleep but it will not come. Every thread of a possible dream she tries to wrap around her mind and pull into rest, frays as soon as she hears another shuddering, unconscious breath from the woman beside her. 

With a frustrated burst of adrenaline, Nayeon sits up, casting the sheets off herself and stretching the muscles in her arms and back. It will be more exhausting to pretend to sleep than to just get up and start working. She lets a flame spring from her palm and steals one last glance at the oasis beside her. 

Mina’s brow is furrowed, her lips strained. A nightmare, but maybe that’s better than being awake. Maybe even the subconscious can’t come up with something worse than Momo and Sana betraying them, Ember Island ravaged, bloodbenders on every horizon. 

Nayeon glances down her body, at the hands curled into tight fists, the spread of her nightdress, and then the twin blooms of red over her knees. 

She’s magnetized to Mina. A hand comes to cup her cheek, another to squeeze at her waist. 

Mina’s eyes glow open, pupils flickering wildly in the resonance of her just-ended nightmare. “What’s wrong?” Her speech is slurred, fingers grasping for Nayeon’s hands like they’re anchors. 

“Someone hurt you,” Nayeon murmurs, letting her hand pass down Mina’s leg. 

“What?” Mina props up on her elbows, before her glance is guided down by Nayeon’s own stare. “Oh. No. It’s fine.” She regathers the sheets, trying to hide herself. But there are streaks of blood there too, angry in the light of the flame. 

“You’ve been bleeding.” 

“Nayeon. It’s nothing.” Her voice is stern. “Let’s sleep.” 

“I can’t.” Nayeon means for her whine to be comic, but Mina’s face creases in concern. She maneuvers herself up, wincing slightly with the friction of her knees on the sheets, and presses her mouth squarely to Nayeon’s lips. 

The Fire Lord funnels herself into this affection, shoulders lifting, body tensing like she’s trying to hold —

“Let’s go to the river.” Mina’s cool hands grip at Nayeon’s wrists, her thumb soothing over the pulse point.

Tzuyu’s fingers tap nervous patterns on the grip of her bow. The lockdown was called off as soon as she had told Chaeyoung that Momo had fled. 

It was all so fast. The way everyone realigned to this reality, that Momo had never lost the letters, that she and Sana — who they had all seemed to love, before — had been liars all along. 

Tzuyu had nodded along as Chaeyoung and Jeongyeon had discussed this, their voices harsh and loud, all while she thought of Momo who had helped her swim to shore when her muscles were too faint in her body. Momo who had laid her head on Tzuyu’s shoulder all those nights in front of the campfire. It’s odd how someone can be so equally capable of kindness and cruelty. It shouldn’t be shocking. She had drawn her bow to fire an arrow through her friend’s heart — cruelty — and then she had let her go. Kindness. 

For an archer, kindness is usually a mistake. Kindness is a hesitation, a selfishness that stands like a stone between the inevitable. 

She leans against the parapet, rubbing against her eyes. She won’t sleep until the sun rises. 

In the woods, though there are no footprints, she can see the path Momo took. It’s as obvious as smoke rising from a distant fire, Tzuyu’s mistake staining her vision. 

It won’t happen again.

When she sees two figures in the woods, she follows, the arrow meant for Momo light again beneath her fingers. 

The river isn’t as Mina remembered it. 

When Nayeon first brought her here, there was wind and fireworks and a newness. 

Now the moon is too bright. The air is too still. They stand on the stones lining the edges of this graveyard for a memory turned sick. 

Mina lifts the edges of her nightdress, wading into the cool water and soothing her knees, healing the skin whole again. It’s the last bit of gentleness she’ll give herself tonight. 

But of course the fabric is still stained. It always will be. 

“Mina.” Nayeon’s voice is unsteady. She’s squatting on one of the larger, smoother stones, arms wrapped protectively around her knees. “What happened?” 

Mina’s helpless to the smile that warps her face. It would be so easy if Nayeon could just go from not-knowing to knowing, to just change instantly the way a heart stops beating. It would be so easy if Nayeon could ask ‘who are you’ instead. 

It would be so easy if this was the moment that the volcano towering over them decided to split its seal and pour out, and Nayeon and Mina would forever be encased in ash, like two scorpions suspended in amber. 

And Nayeon would never know. 

And Mina would never have to tell her. 

Tzuyu hooks her hands around an oak branch, silently lifting herself up into invisibility. She climbs until there is a perfect window in the leaves between herself and Mina. 

As the Water Tribe princess walks deeper into the river, she retrains her ear — away from the whispers of deer, the sparse songs of the owl, toward the two voices. 

Sometimes the only comfort is the one thing that doesn’t care about you. 

This is water, tearing past Mina’s ankles, rushing her away. 

‘Run,’ it says. ‘You can still run.’ 

But there’s another voice harmonizing in the currents. 

‘Let it happen,’ it says. 

Mina looks back to shore, at Nayeon, pale-faced and blameless as the moon above them. The moon that pulls the tides of blood into an overwhelming surge. It would be so easy. As easy as it was supposed to be. And then she could run. 

But Nayeon stands, pulling her pajamas up around her knees, and wading out too. Mina doesn’t stop her from the tight hug, as empty as it feels now. She doesn’t like knowing where she ends and Nayeon ends and that these boundaries, their skin and bones, will never melt together. They’ll never touch each other again, she knows, but it’s not possible to savor the sieve emptying around her. 

“Nayeonie,” she begins, because this is the last time she can use that word before it’s wicked. “I tried.”

“Tried what, baby?” 

It’s like a knife to the throat. It cuts in and suddenly everything is there, spilling out of a second, forced mouth. Mina surrenders to that current, her history starting as an iceberg in the north that is cut and quartered and comes down as a river to flood the place where they stand. 

“The first time you brought me here, I was supposed to kill you.” Mina grips her own wrists, trying to only know her own pulse. 

She dares a glance at the Fire Lord. Her eyes aren’t the right shade of hatred yet, but they will be. Her arms are still encircling her waist, keeping them flush to each other. 

"I was supposed to stop your heart, and send a letter to my father, and we would take everything." 

Still nothing. 

“You told me how Momo burned the rebels out of the mountain, and I told the bloodbenders to do the same. I told them about the ship going to Boiling Rock.”

She doesn’t bother with the sadness or the loneliness, doesn’t bother with any pairings of emotion to action. They’re just excuses. This is a prosecution, and she gives every argument she’s ever sharpened against herself for Nayeon to hold now. 

“I told them you were faking your death.”

Nayeon smiles, as if she's embarrassed. "That was pretty stupid."

But Mina blazes forward. “I sent Momo letters from Sana to keep her here."

Nayeon hums. "I ordered Momo to stay." 

“I stopped Momo’s heart.”

That’s the edge of the cliff.

The percussion of Nayeon’s blood is frantic. 

“But — I let her go, Nayeon.” Mina’s fingers twitch as she tries to decide whether to risk a touch or curl around herself. “You have to believe that. I let her go.” 

The archer pulls the feathering of the arrow across the taut string of the bow. 

Distantly, the first songbird begins talking to the sliver of sun that peeks over the sea. 

Nayeon's eyes are blurred, knuckles pushing against her skin. It must hurt. 

“Hurt me,” Mina whispers, sinking to her knees and bringing Nayeon’s warm hand to her cheek. “You’re angry. Hurt me.” 

The Fire Lord snatches her hand back, as if she was the one burned. “That would make you feel better?” 

“Yes.”

Her palms glimmer with the wisps of blue flames, and Mina wants that heat laid on her body. She wants the pain to be real, finally. For there to be a mark she can press her thumb to and say ‘this is where it hurts.’ 

“Hurt me,” Mina pleads. She lunges for Nayeon again, but the Fire Lord forces her hands into the water, drowning the flames. “I put Jihyo in danger. I pushed Sana away. I — I almost took Momo. I slept in your bed. I sat on your throne with you, touched you. I deserve—” 

Nayeon is unflinching. It’s not an interruption that stops Mina, but just the dawn of absolute exhaustion in the Fire Lord’s eyes. After all, over the last few hours, she’s had to learn that Ember Island was ravaged, that Momo and Sana had betrayed her, and now that Mina was the actual culprit of every inconvenience and pain she had suffered in the last month. 

Tzuyu frowns against the string of her bow. 

The shot isn’t clear. 

Nayeon’s skull is perfectly centered between the arrowhead and Mina’s chest. 

Beneath the water, Nayeon’s hands are still trying to breathe out blue flames. “Mina, this may disappoint you, but I won’t hurt you. You'll have to carry that weight yourself.”

“What I did to Jihyo—” Mina’s eyes are wide and reverent and it makes Nayeon feel that she’s ignoring some instinct. This is such a perfect trap. Her hands are useless underwater. Her body is at the center of a river. She’s in the mouth of a monster in love with her. 

“Well, you failed. You didn’t kill Momo and you didn’t kill me.” 

“But—”

“If you want someone to be angry at you, do it yourself.” Nayeon cups the clear water in her hands, bringing it to wet her face. “I’m too tired, Mina.” 

Nayeon thinks, now, about Mina’s mother. About years spent alone, untouched, only ever warmed by the beam of a flint-struck flame. She thinks about cages she’s been in too, and the constant, shrill singing of blood which must feel so much like the tug of the embers that waited for Nayeon to call them her own. 

“We were just trying to survive,” Nayeon whispers. It’s her excuse for herself. She can at least give that to Mina. "Which is easier than forgiving yourself." 

The muscles in Tzuyu’s arms are beginning to cramp. She’s been holding the light, last branch of Mina’s life in her hands for too long. Her fingers tremble around the tensely drawn string. If Nayeon could just shift, could just run away. 

Mina is disoriented. The rush of the river isn't helping. Nayeon's reaction is wrong, incongruent. This isn't the Fire Lord she's seen on her throne, the Fire Lord in the war room. This is just another lonely girl, wanting her to not be the savage she is, and that's worse. 

“So what do we do now?” Nayeon is delirious with tiredness. She smiles like a drunk. 

“Nayeon, I think you need to be angry.” 

“I’m sick of people saying that.” The Fire Lord hoists herself up, offering a hand to pull Mina upright too. The bloodbender hesitates, caressing her palm but not gripping it. “Let’s go back home.” 

Mina can’t. She’s—

“I’m a liar and a murderer,” Nayeon says. Her voice is purposefully soft, like she’s telling a secret even in the empty woods. “Will you go home with me?” 

When they leave the riverbed, Tzuyu finally lets the arrow hiss out into the air. Cutting nothing. Solving nothing. 

When they get back to their bedroom — no, Nayeon’s bedroom — Mina hovers at the door frame. Her nightdress is now stained with more than blood. The burden of being honest isn’t relieved, not yet, because Nayeon has taken it in such strides Mina can’t trust her. Maybe this was the madness her uncle had suffered from. 

“Come on,” Nayeon yawns into her elbow. 

It’s an order, so Mina goes. It’s all she can do now. Be the good wife again. 

“Here.” The Fire Lord pats her sternum, and Mina lays her head there. It’s not that comfortable — Nayeon is skinny, maybe has gotten skinnier with the stress of the past weeks. But Nayeon’s heartbeat beneath her. Not the war drum she expected, but a soothing, steady thing saying ‘you failed, you failed’ gloriously. 

“We’ll have to tell everyone in the morning.” Nayeon’s hand passes through her hair. “Then we can get our plans sorted —” 

“They won’t believe me. Momo didn’t.” Mina shudders, her lips trembling against Nayeon’s skin. “I don’t— how do I prove that I—” There are words she doesn’t deserve to say anymore. 

“I believe you.” Nayeon breathes into the chaos. “I believed you before, and I was wrong, and now I’m going to believe you again.” 

It’s almost cruel. Mina had prepared herself for anger and violence, had hardened herself against it, but now— the softness gave guilt more places to grow. 

“I’m going to tell you something I tell myself, because it’s the only way I figured out how to. Well, how to live.” 

Mina reaches to entwine their hands. 

“It’s that what we’ve done doesn’t count for much. All that matters is what we’re about to do, what the next choice is. So if — if you feel like you’ve gone too far yet, you haven’t. Everyone deserves a place they can come back to, a place they can tell the truth.” Nayeon laughs wetly. “I’m babbling, but the point is, you could have stopped my heart and you didn’t. You could still stop my heart. I could be wrong, but I don’t think you will. And I’d rather believe that, even if it’s stupid, then to not have — not have this.” 

There are more things to say, but not tonight. Mina closes her eyes. It’s hard to tell if the darkness ever truly fades back to sleep. 

She doesn’t dream. There’s nothing left to want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wham bam thank you ma'am 
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> The next thing happens.


	18. fevers

Jeongyeon slips the edge of a knife against a red wax seal. 

All morning she’s been sifting through the influx of letters from Ember Island. All panicked, all addressed to Nayeon. It’s a great piece of emotional warfare, for the bloodbenders to release the messenger hawks as soon as their ships leave. 

While vultures circle over Ember Island, the palace trees are filled with hawks. 

A morbid balance, Jeongyeon thinks. 

The worst letter was the one from Sana. Jeongyeon knew, on some level, it wasn’t her place to read a letter addressed to Momo. But it was also the last piece of her own friend, and so she traced the thin lines of Sana’s cursive with her finger, before she burned it with the rest. 

When Nayeon staggers in, eyes red-rimmed and hair unkempt, Jeongyeon quickly sweeps another stack of letters in the fireplace. There’s really no need to—

“I have to tell you something,” the Fire Lord begins, her voice raw. “And I need you to not interrupt me because I probably have two minutes before I set something on fire, so. Can you do that?” 

“Yes,” Jeongyeon breathes. She isn’t sure what to expect. Surviving Nayeon, so far, has been an experience in anticipating the worst but always being wrong. 

“Mina was working with the bloodbenders, but she isn’t anymore. She was supposed to kill me but she hasn’t. She send them information, which put Jihyo in danger, and she covered up an attack on Ember Island, but—” Nayeon’s voice falters. “Actually, I don’t think there is a but. She did those things. And now she’s not going to do anything like it again. She’s going to help us fight them.” Nayeon breathes heavily, her fingers twisting the fabric of her robe nervously. “That’s it. You can interrupt me now that—”

“She covered up an attack on Ember Island?” Jeongyeon holds up the letter she was about to open. 

“Yes, it happened a week before we thought it did.” 

“And I’m guessing she had a very good reason to do this, one that will prevent me from suggesting that we arrest her immediately.” Jeongyeon thinks of the Water Tribe girl, how small she seemed on the ship as they came south to the Fire Nation. Her soft voice and instinctual politeness. 

Nayeon chews her lip. “She wanted to keep Momo here, so I’d be safe.” 

“That won’t hold up in court.” 

“ _Court_? She’s the Fire Lady!” 

Jeongyeon sets her jaw. “One of the problems in this system is the lack of accountability at the highest—”

“This has nothing to do with your wishy-washy politics.” Nayeon is seething, but there’s something else. Her eyes are tired, even if her mouth is twisted in a perfect sneer. “I’m not telling this so you can drag Mina off to prison. I’m telling you this because I trust you, and I want you to know what I know, because I want you to help me.” 

“Mina _belongs_ in prison,” Jeongyeon makes sure to give appropriate weight to each syllable. “She’s a traitor. She put all of us in danger. What’s not—”

“Don’t you get it? She’s a traitor, but she betrayed the bloodbenders. Not us. She hasn’t been on our side, but now she is.” 

“Okay. Why is she on our side now?” 

“You’ll laugh.”

Jeongyeon groans. “I think that, as your chief diplomat, it’s important for me to—” 

“Mina loves me.” 

It doesn’t make Jeongyeon laugh. If anything, she wants to cry. 

“She’s been locked away her whole life,” Nayeon continues rapidly. “You know when we were at the academy, and we’d — well, you — would pull all those horrific pranks on the headmaster? And you just did it because, well, you were bored, but also you never really had the chance to goof off or rebel against your parents?” 

Jeongyeon nods. 

“Okay, well, this is like Mina’s version of that. Her only way to rebel is to— to save me.” 

“Did she say that?” 

“Essentially.”

The problem is that it makes sense. It’s like looking at an equation, feeling overwhelmed by its apparent complexities, and then finding that the answer is already scrawled on the back page. Jeongyeon is looking at this simple answer— Mina, all along— but it’s a solution she hasn’t found herself. 

“I need to absorb this,” she says, because it’s all she has. 

“Me too,” Nayeon sighs, slumping against the desk. The desk littered with letters from people who died because of Mina. 

No, Jeongyeon thinks. It’s never that black and white. People who died because bloodbenders killed them. Mina’s complacency wasn’t the same as actually enacting violence. 

“She’s going to sleep in her own room from now on,” Nayeon continues. “She told me that this morning when we woke up. I guess it’s supposed to make me feel more safe.” 

Jeongyeon doesn’t want to ask, but she has to. “And how do you feel?”

“Tired.” The Fire Lord presses against her closed eyes. “Sad.” 

“This may not be the right time—”

“It definitely isn’t.”

That’s never stopped Jeongyeon before. “You haven’t, ah, slept with her, right?” She can’t help but feel relieved when Nayeon shakes her head. “And you can’t. You know that, yeah? Like it would be so—”

“No, Jeongyeon, the fact that my wife has been planning my assassination actually makes me wet beyond comprehension—”

“Okay, okay. Don’t get mad at me, it’s a legal question.” 

Nayeon keeps muttering to herself under her breath, fingers drumming against the top of the desk frantically. 

“This is pretty good grounds for divorce, just in case you want to—”

“One thing at a time.” The Fire Lord— no, Jeongyeon’s best friend— shrinks into herself. Suddenly the ornate red robe is too big, like a costume, like a parent’s coat, tragic in its comedy of not fitting right. “That’s what I’m telling myself. First, the war. Then, Mina. Otherwise I think— I don’t think I’ll be able.” 

Nayeon lets her words drift away. That’s mercy. Jeongyeon can’t handle whatever lays at the end of that thought either. 

“You know I’m with you, right?” 

“Yes.” Nayeon presses her dry lips against Jeongyeon’s cheek. “You know it’s the same for me, right?” 

Unbearably, Jeongyeon whispers, “I know.” 

Breakfast is an exercise in awkwardness, but Dahyun can’t figure out why. 

Nayeon looks exhausted, Mina is even more quiet than normal, and Jeongyeon has been extra attentive to every movement across the entire table. 

Tzuyu seems anxious, her big eyes snapping between each person whenever a fork clatters against a plate or a cup is set back down. 

Chaeyoung, as always, is an oasis of relative consistency. She smacks carelessly on her omelet, surveying the room with a similar suspicion to the one that Dahyun keeps tucked behind her easy, forged smile. 

“Jihyo just set sail,” Jeongyeon says conversationally. “Apparently she’s with Momo and Sana.” 

“Sana,” Mina and Nayeon say at the same time, eyes wide. 

Chaeyoung claps her hands together.“It’s good we caught the traitors.” 

Tzuyu stands abruptly. “I’d like to be excused.” Her eyes are on Nayeon, who shrugs. 

“When Jihyo gets back, we’re going to need to have a strategy meeting.” There’s a constructed casualness to the Fire Lord’s tone. “From now on, things are going to be different. We’ve made some mistakes, but we aren’t going to make any more.” 

“Sounds good.” Chaeyoung shifts in her seat. Dahyun knows she wants to go talk to Tzuyu, to comfort her. Dahyun leans closer, gesturing toward the door. “I should stay,” the warrior mutters. “Something is up.” 

“I’ll take care of her, then.” Dahyun dabs at the corners of her mouth with the napkin, then stands. “I’d like to be excused,” she grins at the Fire Lord. 

Nayeon waves her off, but not without a grateful tilt of her lips. 

After a few minutes of peeking around corners and shouting down hallways, she finds the archer beneath a blackened sycamore. As usual, there’s no need for Dahyun to announce her presence. Tzuyu anticipates every action perfectly, and instead of turning she just pats the grass beside her as an invitation. 

“Was your omelet that bad?” 

Tzuyu always laughs like she’s surprised that she can. 

“You should ask Chaeyoung to cook for you sometime. Then maybe you’ll appreciate the palace chefs a little more.” 

“Do you think she would?” The archer’s eyes are wide, like she’s been graced with something she never thought she could have. Which is Chaeyoung’s bad cooking. Dahyun has seen this girl shoot an arrow through a dragonfly’s wing and pin it to a pine tree.

“She would,” Dahyun assures instantly. “After all of this, when we go back to Kyoshi Island— you’ll love it. I know I’m supposed to say that, but I think you really will. You’ll be a great warrior.” 

“Will I have to give up my bow?” 

“Well, I’m sure arrangements can be made for you to—”

“I don’t want that.” Tzuyu hugs her knees to her chest. “I don’t like the bow anymore.” 

“Well.” Dahyun isn’t sure what to say. It’s her own fault, but so far she’s associated the mysterious archer with two things— her bow and Chaeyoung

“I haven’t been thinking like an archer should. I don’t deserve it anymore.” She’s absolute. 

“Sorry, Tzuyu, but I— you’ve gotta dumb it down for me, I think.” 

The archer frowns, and for a minute Dahyun thinks that’s the end of the conversation. But then, slowly, she begins. “I had the perfect opportunity to make the right decision, to kill someone and make things easier for Nayeon, but I didn’t do it.” 

“Well, with Momo, it makes sense you didn’t shoot her. You have an emotional connection and—” 

“Emotional,” Tzuyu blanks. “An archer doesn’t have emotional connections with prey.” 

“Right, but you’re a person, and your prey is a person, and it’s probably better to recognize that than to couch yourself in these little linguistic tricks that make it feel like you’re just this force of nature working on objects.” 

“Dumb it down for me.” There’s the slightest hint of humor in her eyes. 

“First, you’re not dumb. Second, what I’m saying is that you aren’t an archer, you’re Tzuyu. And no one is prey, and you _know_ that. This might be controversial, but I don’t think the easiest solution is the same as the right one. And there’s nothing easier than killing a person.” 

“Have you killed a person?” 

“No.” Not personally. That doesn’t mean Dahyun doesn’t have ghosts. 

“Then you don’t get it.” Tzuyu closes her eyes, facing up to the dull mid-morning sun. “It feels good. The bow bent in your hand. The feathers against your cheek. That second of wondering if it’s happened, and then suddenly knowing that it could never not have happened?” 

Dahyun wishes, now, that she had encouraged Chaeyoung to come instead. Comfort isn’t exactly her strong suit, and Tzuyu beside her seems so devastated about a problem Dahyun isn’t able to dissect. 

The archer strips a blade of grass between her fingers. 

They sit in silence. 

When Momo’s breathing finally evens, Sana quietly rises from the bed. In the pitch black darkness of the cabin they share, she strategizes around their mess of boots and clothes, pulling Momo’s robe around herself and slipping out. 

She walks through the halls in the hull of the ship before coming up to the clear, brisk night air washing over the hull. It’s a cloudy night, but Jihyo’s silhouette is obvious at the bow. 

Momo is always first, but she’s not the only. 

Sana slips her hands around Jihyo’s waist, tucking her chin on the admiral’s shoulder. She half-expects the other woman to go rigid, to sigh or laugh dismissively, but Jihyo tilts her head slightly to rest against Sana. Below them, the waves are being drawn and quartered across the steel edge of the ship. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

“Didn’t want to,” Sana murmurs into the rough fabric of Jihyo’s uniform. “I thought we should talk.” 

Jihyo sighs. She’s almost limp in Sana’s arms. “All any of us have done for the past few weeks is talk. It’s getting useless. Every conversation I have, I end up more confused than before.” 

On the horizon, the faintest suggestion of land is ahead. It must be the capital. Even from this distance, Sana recognizes the slight rise of the volcano that towers over the palace. 

“I feel useless,” Jihyo huffs, her fists curling tighter around the railing. 

“What do you want to feel instead?” 

“Strong.” Jihyo laughs at herself. “Unbreakable.” 

Sana’s arms tighten around the admiral’s waist, pulling their bodies more firmly together. People never know what they really want. 

Like right now, Jihyo wants to feel small. As simple and manageable and fully possible as the palace up ahead. Sana knows this, because she wants to feel small too. 

She holds the admiral for the minutes it takes for her to surrender, turning in Sana’s arms so she can hide her face against the silk collar of her robe. Sana slips a hand through her hair, pulling out the tie, and rocking her back and forth. The human rhythm is better than the ship’s or the sea’s. 

“I’m sorry I tried to kill Momo,” Jihyo breathes against Sana’s neck. 

“Honestly, I already forgot about that,” Sana laughs, pulling back so she can brush stray strands of hair away from Jihyo’s face. 

“The worst part about all of this is how we’ve turned against each other.” 

Sana lets her have her anger. She listens to the whispered curses, and feels the heat under her skin, but one thing she’s always admired about Jihyo is the control. Nayeon doesn’t mind an outburst, and Momo always regrets her own, but Jihyo is an expert in the cathartic. She knows the exact amount of ire she needs to feel better. 

In Sana’s experience, that means that Jihyo is used to being alone. To taking care of herself. That’s why she’s here, rubbing at the admiral’s elbows, as she exhales another wisp of smoke that simply dissolves into the cutting winds. 

There’s the heavy thump of a steel door closing, and Sana and Jihyo shift so they can see up the deck. Momo is there, eyes wide, a blanket draped over her shoulders. 

Sana doesn’t know when her heart will stop breaking. 

When someone will wrap her up in their arms and ask ‘how do you want to feel’ and know that she’s lying when she says ‘forgiven.’ 

As the sun begins to rise at their backs, the women sit on the deck, Momo’s blanket spread between them, their three twisted hearts beating together. 

Mina sits on her cold, well-made bed. 

There’s no chance of Nayeon tonight. No chance of warmth. 

It’s a punishment, but not the one Mina had wanted. She had wanted Nayeon to be strong and angry, but instead the Fire Lord had shrunk back into herself. 

Mina thinks of Sana, who survived. Maybe she would be strong and angry. Maybe she would be the one to bring a flaming palm to Mina’s skin. 

She’ll deserve it. That’s the single peace there is. 

When a guard knocks on her door, saying it’s time for the meeting, Mina goes before she can remember that all her life she’s really just wanted to run away. 

Jihyo paces across the Fire Nation, through the East Sea, to the coast of the Earth Kingdom. 

The meeting with Nayeon had just ended. It had been exactly as frustrating and surreal and Jihyo had imagined it would be. Mina, demure as ever, had taken her seat beside Nayeon, and in a gentle lilt explained the impending doom. Nayeon had nodded along like a puppet. Jeongyeon at least had the sense to look concerned by the progression of the conversation, but she didn’t interrupt or protest. 

Momo had been a beacon of silent reason. The other firebender looked livid, even as Sana hovered over her and whispered soothingly in her ear. 

Tzuyu had excused herself just five minutes into the meeting. Jihyo notes that maybe, if she has time, she should talk to her. 

Dahyun and Chaeyoung, little psychopaths that they were, seemed to be primarily intrigued, if not delighted, by the recasting of Mina as renegade. 

The admiral looks down at the map she’s pacing over, at the bay of the capital. As she told Nayeon, it’s easier to defend the palace than the capital. They’ll need to evacuate. She looks to the mountains, where thousands of refugees will be pushed out. 

And then they still have to win. 

Sana had bought them time with her massacre on Ember Island. The singular comfort to Jihyo, right now, is that Mina looked surprised but not unpleased when she learned that two-hundred bloodbenders ended up electrocuted. Maybe she was just a sociopath, but Jihyo had been expecting her heart to stop any second during the meeting. 

And here it was. Still beating. Like a taunt. 

When Jeongyeon comes in, pipe in hand, Jihyo finally rises from the East Sea. 

She lights the bowl with her fingertips, and then they pass it between them as they lounge on the map. Well, Jeongyeon lounges. Jihyo is still rigid in every minute articulation of her muscles. 

“Thought you could use a little,” Jeongyeon murmurs, low, like she’s talking to an animal. She holds out the pipe and of course Jihyo takes it. She could use a little. 

“This is crazy, right?” Jeongyeon smiles hopefully. “But it worked out, in a weird way.” 

“You’re really okay with this?” 

“It’s not like I really have options. Nayeon is the Fire Lord, and honestly, this has worked out in our favor if you really think about it.” 

Jihyo scoffs, thinking again of the quiet meeting. 

Momo, who is fire incarnate. 

Sana, who will follow that furnace to the ends of the earth.

Nayeon, who was born into predestined power. 

Jeongyeon, who always follows Nayeon. Because they had so many years together that Jihyo will never catch up on. 

And all of them have accepted this unacceptable thing. 

It would be too hypocritical to label Mina as simply an outsider —Jihyo is one, too. Her mother was from the Fire Nation, but her father came from Ba Sing Se to work as a miner. The arc of Jihyo’s life, as she sees it, is that she has continually chosen this side of her nature. She chose to fight in the Fire Lord’s first war, and then swore she would fight in any of Nayeon’s. 

But the Nayeon she saw today was unfamiliar. 

“Do you think Nayeon is okay?”

Jeongyeon picks at her cuticles. “I think she’s safe, a little tired, but—”

“Do you think she’s in a position to rule?” 

“Yes.” It’s automatic. As always. 

“Well, you’re wrong.” Jihyo takes a long draw on the pipe. The smoke is harsh against her throat. “She’s weak and confused.” 

“Don’t,” Jeongyeon pleads, her voice soft. “We shouldn’t—”

“Why? You’re so loyal to her, but you’re still scared she’ll turn against you at the slightest—”

“It’s not that.” The diplomat crosses her arms protectively over her chest. “She’s sensitive.”

“Sensitive.” The leader of the most powerful, destructive nation on earth and she’s sensitive. Jeongyeon oscillates between treating the Fire Lord like a precious pet and a rabid animal. There’s a bitterness Jihyo knows isn’t fair, but she still feels it— that Jeongyeon has never made the same concessions, the same excuses, for her. That, always, Jeongyeon will choose Nayeon. “Do you really think a sensitive person is fit to be Fire Lord right now?”

“If Nayeon isn’t supposed to be Fire Lord, every decision I’ve made in the last decade has been a mistake.” 

Jihyo stands, holding out the still-smoking pipe for Jeongyeon to take back. “Then I guess you have to deal with that.”

“You need to be careful,” the diplomat hisses, snatching the fabric of Jihyo’s robe to pull her back. “This is starting to sound like treason.” 

Jihyo looks down at the map of the Fire Nation. From the northernmost point of Boiling Rock, down to the straits jutting out toward the Earth Kingdom. She’s been on every mountain, walked through every desert, seen each stretch of black-sanded beach. It isn’t pure genetics or forced duty that ties Jihyo to this place, but a choice she’s impacted again and again and again. 

“If you think what’s happening is okay, then maybe we aren’t on the same side anymore.” Jihyo wants to be kinder right now. She wants Jeongyeon to hold her like Sana did, and understand without words. But below her, the diplomat, her lover, her ally, looks horrified. 

Fine. 

Jihyo’s already lost enough. 

She can barely sleep. The sound of her own heart scares her. 

All the power and rank she accrued through years of work is meaningless with Mina’s presence. 

Jeongyeon, as always, will choose Nayeon regardless of anything. 

If they already think she’s a monster, she’ll just be one. 

“Don’t worry about having to keep my secrets anymore,” Jihyo says as she delicately untangles Jeongyeon’s fist from her robe. “I’ll be perfectly diplomatic about it. I’ll write Nayeon a letter and everything.”

“You’re leaving?” Jeongyeon chokes. 

“No. But if I lose the Agni Kai, I guess I’ll have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> Jihyo and Nayeon air out every problem they've ever had with each other. 
> 
> Sana becomes a licensed therapist. 
> 
> Momo and Mina hang out.


	19. creator, destroyer

Jihyo paces outside Nayeon’s bedroom door as the sun begins to peek over the eastern edge of the palace. 

She keeps making rules for herself. Like, when she next hears a mockingbird, she’ll knock. When she next sees a guard quickly pivot to avoid coming down the hall, she’ll knock. 

But she doesn’t. The sun is pulled up into the sky and Nayeon doesn’t emerge and Jihyo’s boots squeak against the tile—

Until there’s the perfect signal. Mina, in her white nightdress, is coming toward her, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. 

“We have a meeting,” Jihyo says curtly as the waterbender— no, bloodbender— wipes sleep away from her eyes. 

“Oh.” Mina glances at the locked door. “Could you give her this?” 

The admiral takes it, suppressing a wince at the coolness of Mina’s fingers as they transfer the mug between them. When the Fire Lady turns and retreats, Jihyo lowers her lips to take a tentative sip. 

Just green tea. 

Jihyo knocks. 

When Nayeon opens the door, she’s disheveled and smiling, reaching out for the mug greedily. “Did Mina bring it?” 

“Yep.” 

The Fire Lord plops down on her bed, humming as the tea soothes through her. She pats the space next to her expectantly, smiling around the rim of the cup as a snare of pity tightens around Jihyo’s throat. 

“I’m guessing you’re here for a reason.” 

Jihyo wants to say she’s sorry but she isn’t. She sinks to her knees, looking up at the mutations of humor then disbelief then unease that pit the corners of Nayeon’s smile. 

“Let me carry this burden for you,” Jihyo begins, as she rehearsed in the mirror. It’s a good turn of phrase. Makes it seem like charity instead of—

“Burden,” Nayeon rasps, like she hasn’t heard the word before and needs to feel it out in her mouth. 

Jihyo gulps. Her collar is too tight. “The throne.” 

Nayeon laughs bitterly. “Of all people, I never expected you.” 

The admiral’s fists clench uselessly at her sides. As if she hasn’t had the suspicion on her back before, always too ambitious, always too forthright— for Nayeon to pretend that the thought never— 

“You think this will solve it?” 

“I think we’ll be safer,” Jihyo begins, “we’ll win the war, and then I’ll give you—” 

“No, I mean will this solve all _your_ problems?” 

“My only problem is the safety of the Fire Nation and its citizens.” 

Nayeon sneers. “Funny, because that’s mine too.” 

“I’m challenging you to an Agni Kai because I don’t want to have an argument like this.” Jihyo will not beg, but she can’t help the pitch of her voice as she looks up at her Fire Lord. “There are things we can’t take back—” 

“Why does everyone think if I hurt them I’ll be less angry?” 

Jihyo sucks in a breath, about to reply, but then— she doesn’t know what Nayeon means. 

“Will hurting me make you less angry?” Nayeon stares into the middle-distance between them. The lack of focus in her eyes reminds Jihyo of Momo. 

“No.” 

“But we’re still going to have an Agni Kai.” 

Jihyo tightens her jaw. “You can’t expect me to—”

“I do,” Nayeon seethes. “Because I’m the Fire Lord and you aren’t.” She pushes herself up from the bed — the bed a bloodbender has slept in — and dumps the remainder of her tea in the smoking fireplace. “You really think this is so easy? None of them love me. I try to be what everyone wants and no one loves me for it.” 

“Then maybe you didn’t earn it.” This is the knife Jihyo never wanted to twist through Nayeon’s heart. But when she thinks of Mina sharing this room, sharing the throne, all while she could pull an aneurysm through their veins at any moment— 

“Get out.” 

Jihyo bows tersely. “At sunset.” 

“Fine,” the Fire Lord seethes, and Jihyo feels heat against her back as she leaves. 

Sana keeps her eyes closed against the mid-morning brightness as it sweeps through the bedroom. 

She woke twice through the night, harsh dreams shaking her open in Momo’s arms. The old war has been replaced with the new one, dark ships at dusk, all brimming with bloodbenders. Bloodbenders that all look like Mina. 

Sana turns, groaning into a sweat-damp pillow. If only she could want sleep enough to have it. 

Beside her, Momo is muttering her sister’s name. 

This is Sana’s first duty for the day, pressing wandering kisses to Momo’s face, easing her back into the real world. 

Not that it’s any better here. Not that Momo’s family is waking, too, as the sun rises over the mountains. 

When Momo’s eyes open, Sana pulls herself away. There’s still some wandering awkwardness between them— all these gaps they haven’t filled with conversations that should happen but haven’t. Sana slips from the bed, pulling her rose silk robe tighter around her waist. 

“Come back to me.” Momo’s voice is raw with sleep. 

Sana busies herself with opening dresser drawers, looking for a clean tunic. “We’re already late for breakfast.” 

“I don’t wanna go.” 

There’s a perfect, taut line between the center of Sana’s chest and any stray whine from Momo. Like a fish hooked by the lip, Sana turns, half-dressed, to where Momo is reaching for her. 

“We haven’t talked.” It’s not a protest but a stipulation. 

“This is talking,” Momo breathes humid into the shell of her ear, her hand pushing down past the jut of Sana’s hipbones to pass between her thighs.

She isn’t wrong. There’s a conversation of hands, and the dormant bed is again like a sea, the sheets twisting and stretching in currents, and for Sana there is only one word because it’s all Momo speaks into her mouth— 

Sana, Sana, Sana.

She remembers how to be that again, be Sana and reach inside Momo and remake themselves. It’s like being in a furnace, melded together by heat and brightness and when they are panting, sweating, laying side by side, she doesn’t bother to pull away even as their skin seals together. 

Momo holds her, and Sana wonders if she really could just melt here and now, and have Momo take it all into herself and live like that. 

“Do you feel better?” 

Sana maneuvers so she can delicately pluck a stray eyelash from the top of Momo’s flushed cheek. She balances the crescent on the tip of her pinky until a puff of air from Momo’s pursed lips sets it fluttering into the sheets. 

“We should take better care of each other,” Sana whispers. She’s not sure she wants Momo to hear. 

“I thought we just—” 

“I need you as much as you need me.” She traces the curve of Momo’s tense jaw, back to tug playfully at her earlobe. She mimics Momo’s own ritual, but with variations— she rearranges Momo’s damp bangs, pinches at the edges of her cheeks, all while Momo’s dark eyes stare past her. 

“But you left.” 

“I hurt both of us.” Sana retreats slightly, wanting to give Momo the space she’d never dare to ask for. “It’s just that you’re always breaking my heart. Is that just— is that what it’s supposed to feel like?” 

Sometimes Sana’s nightmares aren’t of the war, of Momo’s family of ghosts coming to tear her from their bed. It’s a simpler dream, a dream of her heart so deliciously sore from loving Momo, wrenched from her chest and laid out for the scavengers to eat.

She tells Momo this, watching the weather systems of her eyes darken as the thunder in her chest blares. 

“It makes me feel like I can love the whole world,” she breathes. “Like I’ve been tempered down to nothing but water and everyone can take me away from you.” 

A fresh cut of sunlight slices the bed in half. 

“I feel the same,” Momo trembles. “But not in a bad way. I think I can love other people because you taught me how.” 

Sana is about to seize something, about to fatalize this difference in interpretation, but Momo is quicker. 

“When you were gone, Nayeonie and I had an argument. She said I needed to learn how to be alone, and what bothered me was— what do we learn from being alone?” 

Sana’s mouth is dry. “How to survive.” 

“And why do we bother surviving?” 

Jihyo spends the afternoon in one of the courtyards, running through familiar drills. Tzuyu watches, her singular companion since she announced her intention to duel Nayeon to the others in the palace. 

Sana and Momo, as expected, pretended to be neutral, but she caught them whispering about Nayeon with leftover affection. 

Jeongyeon, pale and peckish, had avoided her most of the day. 

As she releases another burst of fire to blur into the greying sky, the admiral thinks bitterly that the price of doing the right thing shouldn’t be abandonment. 

She was alone as a footsoldier, sick in the mud of battle after battle. She was alone when she became a captain, alone in bunk beds and sinking ships, and it makes sense to be alone now. 

Except for Tzuyu. 

She can’t tell if Tzuyu is here as a gesture of support or a watchful eye for Nayeon. Either way, she doesn’t mind the quiet company. 

After an onslaught of targetless kicks at an imaginary Fire Lord, Jihyo finally feels the right ache in her muscles. She can’t go in soft, but she doesn’t want to tire herself out either. 

“I’ve never seen an Agni Kai,” Tzuyu says when Jihyo comes up beside her, dipping down to splash water from the fountain over her face. 

“It’s ugly work.” 

“You’ve been in one before?” 

“No.” Jihyo pushes her hair back, knotting it up in a fresh ponytail. “But the old Fire Lord liked them as entertainment, so I saw one or two.”

“That’s barbaric.” 

The admiral glances down at the archer. This girl who shot through rabbit hearts just so she and Momo could eat, all while picking at berries for herself. 

“It is,” Jihyo finally agrees. “But it’s also the only option.” Surely Tzuyu can understand that. Either an arrow is released or it isn’t. Jihyo can’t sit idly by as the Fire Nation is torn limb from limb while Nayeon herself is split by a bloodbender toying with the tides of her blood. 

Mina sits on the armchair in Nayeon’s bedroom, legs tucked under her at an uncomfortable angle. She’s trying to make herself as small, as unobtrusive as possible as Sana fusses over Nayeon. Momo stands rigidly in the corner, her eyes moving in pendulum to trace the commotions between the two other women. Whenever her gaze rests on Mina, they both quickly snap back to focus on Sana’s hands desperately attempting to braid the Fire Lord’s hair.

“You remember that time Jeongyeon’s hair caught fire,” Sana harshes, letting the brush fall against Nayeon’s shoulder in an affectionate hit. “And then she had to have that haircut—”

“Fine,” Nayeon huffs, tucking her hands against her chest to give Sana room. 

“Momo, help me.” 

The firebender slinks away from the shadows, her small hands working in fast, firm motions to quickly braid Nayeon’s dark hair. 

Mina grips her own fingers tightly, trying to press down hard enough that her discomfort relocates from her heart. It’s like a channel into the past, this dynamic of the three women rushing, carrying her with it to a conclusion she’s never been ready for. 

Maybe it’s especially awkward because she hasn’t talked to Sana or Momo since they’ve gotten back. It’s not been more than a day, but Mina feels the mounting pressure of a conversation, the way an animal knows there will be a storm and seeks shelter before the sky even changes. 

Mina would prefer to hide from the two women, whose eyes dart to her, prickling her skin. 

“How are you feeling about tonight,” Momo murmurs as she ties off the braid with a ribbon. With her hair pulled back, Nayeon looks younger. 

“Fine.” 

Mina wonders if Nayeon’s answer would be different if they were alone, if she had been the one to think to ask. 

After a few more minutes of dead-end conversation, the two former retainers finally filter from the bedroom. It’s hard for Mina to know, right now, what Nayeon is feeling. Usually the atlas of her heart is so plain— fast for anxiety, slow for comfort, hitching for surprise. But the tides are being tossed with each, an erratic melody that Mina can’t follow. 

“I hate this color,” Nayeon huffs, pulling at the orange silk sleeves distastefully before yanking the robe up over her head and tossing it to the floor. 

Instinctually, Mina brings a hand up to block Nayeon’s bare body. She hasn’t earned this yet. She doesn’t want it like— 

Oh. 

From behind the edges of her fingers, Mina can make out a complicated delta of scars across the Fire Lord’s pale back. It’s like a map laid out— not like the one Mina had felt so many nights, not the flow of blood but a visual reading of it seared into her skin. It’s like lightning, all the veins raised as pink scars, spreading from the apex of her right shoulder across the mountain range of her spine, fizzling out to angry helixes just above the waistband of her pants. 

Nayeon busies herself, still facing away, with finding a different tunic to pull over her shoulders. But the vessels are now branded to Mina’s eye, a monument of pain that had been beneath her this whole time revealed by one careless action. 

When the Fire Lord turns, she sags apologetically as soon as she reads Mina’s expression. “It’s ugly.” 

Rage quakes through Mina’s bones. “Who did that?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Nayeon shrinks self-consciously. “It was my own fault. I was redirecting lightning, but I— I messed up.” She turns away again. It’s like the moon waning. “Momo saved me, actually. I was seizing, the electricity just tearing me apart and she— she took it all into herself.” 

All the righteous anger rots in Mina’s lungs. Of course. Nayeon already has what she needs. Mina will never be Sana or Momo, she’ll never be a selfless protector or a simple, nostalgic love affair. 

“This is my fault.” 

“How can it be,” Nayeon laughs. She probably means for it to be kind, but the high-pitch is like a whip cracked on Mina’s back. 

“The Agni Kai. If I hadn’t—” 

“What you did doesn’t matter.” Nayeon is ferocious. “I’m sorry to tell you that it doesn’t matter at all. The only thing is what’s about to happen and who we’re about to become.” 

Water is ancient. 

But fire is hopelessly, perpetually new. 

When Nayeon kneels in front of her, their hands twine together. 

“I want to see it again,” Mina whispers. A sad smile twists Nayeon’s face as she turns, lifting the back of her shirt up over her shoulders. Mina traces each angry river from source to the thin, cat-scratch tips. 

“How are you feeling,” she speaks against Nayeon’s skin. 

“Lonely.” 

Mina wishes she could be like Momo, could take Nayeon’s pain and fold it up within herself and together they could forget its meaning. 

The sun swells red over the mountains to the west. 

An Agni Kai begins when the edge first touches the horizon. 

In the palace’s main courtyard, Jihyo and Nayeon pace at their opposite ends like caged animals. 

Sana grips Momo’s damp palm, pulling her through the guards that came to watch. 

“I want to sit with Jeongyeon,” Momo complains. 

Jeongyeon stations herself, along with Tzuyu, on Jihyo’s pole of the courtyard. When she catches the admiral’s eye, she sends a thumbs up. It’s shallow. It’s not enough. It’s not the same as saying ‘I’ve chosen you before and I am now and I will again’ but there’s no need. She’ll tell her later. 

“Where is Tzuyu’s bow,” Chaeyoung murmurs, breath hot against Dahyun’s ear. 

The Kyoshi Warrior pops up on her tip-toes, glancing at the archer. “She doesn’t have it.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Momo plops down on the second row bench, the one directly behind Mina. 

Sana, however, sits beside her, leaning in to whisper gently in the Fire Lady’s ear. 

Because no one is looking, the firebender doesn’t mind rolling her eyes. She’ll pout, like a kid brought to ceremony, because it’s easier than committing to the fact that Nayeon and Jihyo are about to hurt each other. Maybe in ways she can’t take away. 

The drums begin, a makeshift heartbeat for the people who crowd into the courtyard. 

Jihyo strides forward, dipping into a long, low bow. 

Nayeon does the same, though there’s something feral in her eyes. 

“They both want to prove themselves,” Dahyun says sagely. 

“They both want to waste time,” Chaeyoung counters, though she reaches for the fireflakes with a slight grin. 

Nayeon is the first to attack. She opens the Agni Kai with a half-hearted blast, one Jihyo doesn’t even bother to block, just letting it wash off her body like a low wave. 

From there, they begin to trade. The tempo is slow at first, tentative. Friends who are fighting and not yet sure which weapons to use, but then— 

“Try,” Nayeon shouts. It sounds like an order. 

Jihyo tenses, her sleeveless tunic already scorched, the muscles in her arms flexing around phantom flames she isn’t ready to conjure yet. 

As the courtyard flashes with bright, indistinguishable flames, Sana threads her fingers with Mina’s. 

Mina wants to ask her how she can offer a kindness like this, but there is one word she’s capable of forming right now, and it is Nayeon, Nayeon, Nayeon. The Fire Lord is vicious and wonderful, laughing openly when Jihyo misses. It’s Nayeon as she’s meant to be— a performer, her eyes cast out to the crowd every few beats. Mina knows that she, as well as the rest of the crowd, is the kindling to every one of Nayeon’s flames. 

When Nayeon’s flames begin to blue at the tips, Momo leans forward to mutter in Sana’s ear. “She’s pissed.” 

It’s clear to Momo that Jihyo is playing the stamina game— not committing to any attacks, but letting Nayeon tire herself out and gain false confidence. It’s the sort of bet that a person can only make when they know their opponent inside out. 

But Nayeon knows Jihyo too. She must know this is her plan. She must have something planned, something that— 

Sana turns, honey eyes tethering to Momo’s. She shakes her head subtly. 

Nayeon pants. Her throat is sore, lungs bruised, the smoke stinging her eyes as she pushes through another onslaught from Jihyo. For every two attacks the admiral unleashes, Nayeon is only able to manage one. She’s always done better in—

“Close quarters,” Jeongyeon whispers. “Just get closer to her, Nayeon.” 

Her heart is torn in two. 

The tempo of the drums gets more frantic. The audience must be getting impatient, so Nayeon takes that last burst and blazes forward, dodging Jihyo’s jabs and sweeping her— 

“It’s too low,” Momo whispers into Sana’s ear. “I made that mistake when—”

“I remember.” 

It shouldn’t happen, but it does. 

Jihyo dodges the sweep almost perfectly, but somehow Nayeon is able to push her left ankle so that the admiral crumples. 

Jeongyeon’s breath hitches. Beside her, Tzuyu turns away. 

Jihyo panics in the weightless milliseconds, Nayeon leering over her, the sunset bruising the sky above them. 

It’s like a strike of flint in her gut, a static that snaps into electricity and gushes in savage white to anchor itself to the Fire Lord. 

Her friend. 

It’s instinct, a compassion impacted over years and years, that guides the lightning spitting from Jihyo’s fingers down to the stone ground and not through Nayeon’s body. 

That’s the last mercy Jihyo will give. 

There’s a collective gasp when Nayeon crumples and Jihyo rises. Their shadows are long and dark, cast like cloaks over the courtyard. 

Sana glances up once again at Momo. 

It is nice to not need words. 

The hand that Jihyo fists in the front of Nayeon’s blue tunic is half to steady her, half to hold her through the inevitable. 

An Agni Kai can only end with a burn. A mark of shame. 

“Where do you want it,” she whispers.

Nayeon’s lips are dark with blood. “Here.” She points at the high point of her cheek. “So you have to see it everyday.” 

Mina tunes herself to the tides of blood in Jihyo’s body. 

Finally, the moon is trading places with the sun. 

When the admiral’s hand is alight with yellow flames, she bends and Jihyo’s wrist splinters and the fire never touches Nayeon and Nayeon wins the Agni Kai and everything is okay and one night in the future she heals Nayeon in her arms and she is healed by Nayeon and no one ever burns anyone again and 

None of that happens. 

Mina’s chi is cut off by the harsh press of Sana’s thumb against the insides of her wrists. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. 

Mina tries to bring her arms up, but her muscles are limp. She has to kill Jihyo. She has to cover her eyes. She can’t see Nayeon burn, not like— 

Momo’s hand comes from behind to cover her eyes, pulling her back into a hug. 

In the sudden, artificial dark, Mina can hear Nayeon’s heartbeat. The audience’s gasp. 

It happens like that. In one second, the Fire Lord is the former Fire Lord.

The former Fire Lord is screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sowwy
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> At least three more things happen.


	20. a necessary interlude: the ballad of im nayeon

Hands of heat cup Nayeon’s face as she crouches in front of her fireplace. She woke in a cold, Mina-less bed, and now waits for warmth. She likes this red better than the pale sunlight filtering past the curtains. She likes the wood fraying and black as— 

There’s something else in the fireplace, half-covered in ash. It's as white and round as the moon, a light blue ribbon threading through it. 

Mina’s necklace. The one she had pushed out of the way so many times, wanting to kiss the skin over her sternum. 

Nayeon reaches for it, but then as her fingertips graze the silk, but then— maybe Mina wanted it here. Maybe Mina wanted it to burn. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

The admiral stands, short in the door frame, her uniform clean and sharp along the edges of her shoulders. In her hands, she cradles a mug.

Nayeon grins against all reason. “Did Mina bring it?”

“Yes,” Jihyo says tightly. 

The Fire Lord hums as the tea soothes through her sore throat, refolding herself in a mess of sheets. She pats the space beside her, beckoning Jihyo who still stands stiffly at the entrance. 

“I’m guessing you’re here for a reason,” Nayeon prompts. She’s not sure she can handle more bad news— another city attacked, another set of pyres burning— but that comes with the throne. 

The admiral sinks to her knees, her bare face so young in the morning light. 

“Let me carry this burden for you,” she begins, eyes on the floor, as if repentant. 

“Burden,” Nayeon whispers past the dread clogging her throat. All the possibilities of apocalypse reel in her head, the ghosts thickening to smoke. Maybe another island has been taken. Maybe Mina has—

“The throne.” 

It’s half in relief that Nayeon laughs. In her smile, she bites her tongue. “Of all people, I never expected you.” She doesn't want to actually ask the question. That makes this too plain. 

Jihyo bows her head. Maybe in shame. Maybe as if she is about to be crowned, here, in the bedroom. As if Nayeon will ever give it up.

“You think this will solve it?” 

“I think we’ll be safer,” Jihyo says lowly. “We’ll win the war. And then I’ll give you—”

“No.” Nayeon crosses her legs. “I mean will this solve all of _your_ problems?” 

“My only problem is the safety of the Fire Nation and its citizens.” 

Nayeon sneers. What a little politician. “Funny, because that’s mine too.” 

“I’m challenging you to an Agni Kai,” Jihyo continues, her voice raised against all interruptions, “because I don’t want to have an argument like this. There are things we can’t take back—”

Nayeon scoffs. “Why does everyone think if I hurt them I’ll be less angry?” She thinks of Mina at the river, begging to be burned. As if that would take away the pain, or maybe add to it. As if that’s justice. “Will hurting me make you less angry?”

“No.”

It’s automatic. 

“But we’re still going to have an Agni Kai.” 

The admiral tightens her jaw. “You can’t expect me to—”

“I do.” Nayeon wants to burn the sheets of the bed. She wants the comfort of her throne, the flames expressing everything she can’t. “Because I’m the Fire Lord and you aren’t.” She rises from the bed, dumping the rest of the tea on the fire that still smolders around Mina’s necklace. “You really think this is so easy?" Nayeon thinks of the crowd at the wedding, all cheering and singing, and then the next day all of them piled into the throne room, expecting to feast on a carcass. "None of them love me. I try to be what everyone wants and no one loves me for it.” 

“Then maybe you didn’t earn it.”

Nayeon has always thought that every relationship, every friendship has a trigger for self-destruction. A phrase, a secret, that will raze any home. 

This is it.

The white lotus tile always hidden in Jihyo’s sleeve. 

“Get out.” 

Jihyo bows mechanically. Nayeon can’t take it as anything but mocking.

“At sunset,” the admiral says as she breaches the door. 

“Fine.” 

As soon as the door shuts, Nayeon scrambles for the fireplace, quickly picking out Mina’s necklace. The pendant is stained with soot, contorted from the heat, and she cradles it in her palm. 

In the throne room, Nayeon sits alone in her blue inferno. 

There’s no one here to witness her anger. No demanding subjects or blubbering advisors, but also no Jihyo, whose eyes hopefully would shine with guilt, no Momo who would gladly lay herself on the embers and swallow all Nayeon’s pain, no Mina who could soothe a hand over the Fire Lord’s knee and polish her back to the bright shiny thing people are supposed to love. 

Mina would look nice here, right now. Nayeon has seen her face in sunlight, the white wash of the moon, the temperamental strikes of a fireplace, but never with blue like this. 

When the tall double-doors open and it is not Mina, Nayeon is sick with disappointment. 

Instead it’s Sana. 

Somehow, that’s the only person who could make sense right now. This is their place after all— every argument they’ve had, every lie that has bonded them, has taken root in the space between the throne and where Sana now drifts. 

Nayeon doesn’t need her to say she knows about the Agni Kai— sympathy is already organized on her friend’s face. 

“You here to challenge me to a fight too?” It’s supposed to be lighthearted, but it was stupid for Nayeon to think she could manage that right now. 

“No.” It’s unnecessary to say, but that’s Sana. Her eyes are wide, like she can physically open herself as far as possible and give it all to Nayeon again. Again, some sickness curls its way through the Fire Lord’s chest. “I came to see how you’re—”

“How do you think I’m doing?” 

Sana sets her jaw. “I don’t deserve this.” 

She’s right. Nayeon is pure venom right now. But Sana is the only one who has offered herself, and so—

“I’ll leave if you don’t want to talk.” 

It’s a perfect threat, because Nayeon lets the flames fall. 

They sit in silence, letting it stretch and fill the room where the smoke doesn't. 

"I've never been punished," Nayeon begins. It's like a cliff. 

Jihyo was born poor and starving. 

Momo was basically punished for existing at all, a freak of nature packaged inside a gentle body. 

Even Jeongyeon and Sana, for all their nobility, were born to bow to her and beg for favors. 

Mina, too — what Mina had to suffer.

Nayeon tells Sana all of this, and then— "None of you deserved it. But do I— do I deserve this?" 

She actually doesn't want to hear Sana's answer. She doesn't want to hear 'yes.' 

Nayeon falls comfortably into a rant— anger at Jihyo’s betrayal. Uneasiness that the admiral might, in fact, be right. She has been unfocused. She has little to no idea how to strategize against the bloodbenders, especially not when she envisions all of their faces as Mina’s. The instincts that Nayeon had depended on for her entire tenure as Fire Lord have already failed her— she let an enemy into her bed and now was unable to muster the rage expected of her. 

Nayeon waits for Sana to interrupt, but she doesn’t. 

“And so, my thought process is, if Jihyo wins then Mina will probably be locked up at Boiling Rock and rot in a cell. But if I win, then, what? We keep doing the same thing? I keep making mistakes until you all leave me?” 

Nayeon waits for Sana to say she will never leave her. She waits for Sana to lie. 

Sana folds her hands on her lap. “Do you remember when we went to the mountains, the three of us? We looked at that fortress and we said either we can attack and risk ourselves, or we can starve them for months. And we argued for days about which was best, but then Momo left us in bed and—”

“Yes.” Nayeon doesn’t exactly want to discuss one of their many war crimes with Sana, not after all the—

“This isn’t a choice between saving Mina or being abandoned. There’s a third option.” 

Sana is smiling sagely, almost reverent as the blue flames light her face. 

“Tell me what to do,” Nayeon breathes. “Tell me how.” 

“I can't.” 

Nayeon’s thumb passes over the Water Tribe pendant in her pocket. It’s as smooth as a gravestone. 

“But I’ll hold her for you,” Sana says as she rises. 

Nayeon is the first to attack. She opens the Agni Kai with a half-hearted blast, one Jihyo doesn't even bother to block, letting it wash off her body like a low wave. 

The Fire Lord grits her teeth when Jihyo answers with a few quick bursts. 

“Try,” she commands. She pleads. This has to look real to work. 

Across from her, in the honey toned sunset, Jihyo hesitates again. 

Her next attack is mis-aimed and Nayeon laughs. She knows Jihyo as a map of reactions— taunt her, get her angry. 

She cackles when Jihyo misses again. 

This is Nayeon’s last performance as Fire Lord. She’ll play the unhinged tyrant. She’ll let Jihyo be the righteous hero. It's not that far from the truth. 

It’s the energy, the collective gasps of the crowd, that fuel the tinges of blue simmering at the edges of her flames. 

But the wick is short. In the next five minutes, Nayeon burns through her own muscles. Her throat is sore, lungs bruised, the smoke stinging her eyes as she pushes through another onslaught from Jihyo. For every two attacks the admiral unleashes, Nayeon is only able to manage one. 

But why won’t Jihyo just finish it? She has the advantage. 

The tempo of the drums gets more frantic. 

The audience must be getting impatient. It’s annoyance that drives Nayeon to blaze forward, dodging Jihyo’s jabs and attempting an impulsive sweep. 

It doesn’t make sense— she went too low too early, but still the admiral crumples when Nayeon’s boot impacts her ankle, the flames at her wrists smoking to nothing so Jihyo can catch herself against the pavement. 

This is the moment of victory. 

‘Play along with me,’ Nayeon wants to say, though it’s too late now. Too late to say you were right, you’ve earned this, I’m ready to repent. 

When static springs at the center of the admiral’s palm, the blood in Nayeon’s veins feels as useless and heavy and ready to burn as oil. That fear seizes her muscles in its mouth, and she falls. 

There’s a collective inhale in the audience when Jihyo knots her fist in the fabric of Nayeon’s blue tunic. 

“Where do you want it,” the admiral whispers. 

“Here.” Nayeon touches the high point of her left cheek. “So you have to see it everyday.” 

Nayeon knows Jihyo like a map of reactions. 

Even here, with the ultimate power dangling in front of her, Jihyo doesn’t budge. Her fist stays at her side, flames hissing around her knuckles, but she makes no move to brand Nayeon. 

That’s why she’s earned the throne. 

Nayeon’s eyes flick to Jeongyeon, pale-faced and fearful. 

To Sana, whose hands clamp around her wife’s wrists as promised. 

To Momo, who pulls the bloodbender back against her own chest. 

To Mina, who must be secretly screaming for Jihyo’s blood. 

All Nayeon can do now is protect her from what she wants. 

When Nayeon brings a burning hand to her own face, she is thinking of the rabbit in the moon. She’s thinking of the unburned animal, the cold of Mina’s home. She’s thinking that maybe because this is the right thing it will not hurt. 

But this isn’t a story they tell children. Nayeon pours flames against herself and it’s pure in being pain. 

It’s only when Jihyo clutches her wrist that she stops. The world is right and bleeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was really a guilty pleasure chapter because i've wanted to rewrite a scene from a different character's perspective this entire time. all the dialogue and blocking is the same. i'm just sort of proud. 
> 
> loona are prophets 
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Dahyun gets a law degree. 
> 
> Jeongyeon and Jihyo earn their ship tag. 
> 
> Chaeyoung and Tzuyu learn something new about each other. 
> 
> Nayeon recruits someone to help her in her personal mission.


	21. like the outside [M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is vaguely mature sexual content. happy valentines day.

In the concentrated chaos after Nayeon is burned, the palace fractures. 

Jihyo is like an anchor, sunk on her knees at the center of the courtyard as waves of guards and advisors panic through the halls. Momo and Sana shield Mina— or, maybe, imprison her— in their arms. Tzuyu sees Jeongyeon hurry after a group of nurses. 

Tzuyu is about to follow too, to find Nayeon, to maybe give her whatever comfort she could— she owed Nayeon that much, but a hand grips her wrist. 

“We have to work,” Dahyun says gravely, pushing her spectacles up her nose. 

Chaeyoung’s fingers slip between Tzuyu’s own, and so she follows them. 

In the library, Dahyun heaves out three piles of scrolls. They work in the candlelight, hunched close to the parchment. Tzuyu traces the lines with a fingertip, exhaustion starting to pull her away from the pages that document every Agni Kai ever had. Their purpose is to find out if something like this has ever happened before— if someone has ever burned themselves, and if they won or lost because of it. 

Tzuyu drowns in this flurry of names and injuries, but there’s nothing like what Nayeon did. Not yet. 

She looks to Dahyun, mumbling manically as her eyes dart across sheet after sheet and Chaeyoung, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Are you feeling alright,” Tzuyu whispers. The warrior smiles weakly and mouths ‘headache.’ Tzuyu purses her lips, hoping to display some appropriate concern, and then Chaeyoung exaggerates a childish frown, and the mole just above her mouth is—

“Read,” Dahyun chirps. She has a knack for issuing orders in a genial way, but tonight her pep erodes what little energy Tzuyu has. “We’ll sleep when we know.” 

Tzuyu leans on her elbows, propping her head up so she can stare down and try to will herself to read. 

When the flock of nurses finally unlatch from Nayeon’s bedside, Jeongyeon is thankful that they covered half her face with bandages. She’s not ready for that particular part of reality right now. 

The former Fire Lord laughs, then winces when the lift of her cheeks sting against the burn. 

“You shouldn’t—” Jeongyeon huffs, getting up to pour a glass of water for Nayeon. 

“Just because I lost doesn’t mean you get to order me around now.” But she still takes the offering in the same hands that had been pressed to her face just an hour ago, razing the skin red. 

“You may still be Fire Lord. Technically speaking, you won.” 

Nayeon tries to laugh again. “Do I look like a victory?” 

The thing is that Jihyo doesn’t look like one either. 

It’s a testament to the years when Nayeon frowns, reaches out, soothes her hands over Jeongyeon’s knuckles. “Why aren’t you with her?” 

“Because of you.”

It’s too true and too loud and too alone in the silent bedroom. 

“Then stop.” 

Jeongyeon hunches over, fingers threading through her own hair. “I’m not just going to watch you self-destruct.” 

“What, this?” Nayeon touches the edge of the bandage, laughing when Jeongyeon seizes her wrist harshly. “You’ve seen worse.” She rolls her single visible eye when there isn’t a response. “On Jihyo.” 

It’s true. During the war, when Jihyo had staggered back from battle, Jeongyeon would sit behind her, spreading aloe and honey over the burn marks slashed over her back. She had hoped to do the same for Nayeon, to ease her into this new pain.

“Stop.” But Nayeon unfolds her fist and threads their fingers together. “Let me make my own mistakes this time.” 

Jeongyeon wants to laugh. On the timeline of how this happened, there were so many places where she could have saved Nayeon from just this. If she hadn’t gone to the Northern Water Tribe at all, if she hadn’t harped on about diplomacy with a country that wanted them all on pyres. 

“Don’t,” Nayeon says, still stern, and Jeongyeon wishes there was some sort of wall, some rift she could put between them. It’s terrifying to be known like this. “We were deciding in the dark. But now we know what to do.”

“If you know what to do, you shouldn’t have thrown the Agni Kai.” 

“You wanted me to hurt Jihyo?”

Jeongyeon feels something ugly in the set of her jaw, in the poison of her throat. “I wanted you to not fuck up. I wanted you to be good at your job, and be smart about it, and not push anyone to the point that they would challenge you to a fucking dogfight.” She takes a deep breath but it doesn’t fill her lungs right. “You and I were supposed to be better than all this archaic crap. You were supposed to rule and _change_ things, and then—” 

“And then give the throne to someone like Jihyo.” Nayeon smiles, like this is some brilliant revelation. 

Jeongyeon scoffs. “So you make a game out of fucking with the new Fire Lord’s head? You kneel in front of your friend and burn half your face off?” 

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Jeongie.” 

“Maybe you really are delusional.” They’re still holding hands. “Jihyo didn’t beg for—”

“ _I’m_ the beggar. I’m the one who has always been too weak.” 

“That’s not true.” It’s force of habit. Jeongyeon can switch between being Nayeon’s shield and the sword at her throat with even less than this self-deprecation. And besides all that, it’s a stupid argument. Nayeon has a fourth of the power of the military power on earth. For her to victimize herself, to think that this is anything but an abandonment of duty is— 

“The reason I was Fire Lord is because I killed the right person at the right time. And now, the reason Jihyo will be Fire Lord is I burned the right person at the right time. That’s justice, isn’t it?” 

“That throne is a curse,” Jeongyeon hisses, “and now you’ve passed it onto the person who— onto my person.”

Nayeon’s thumb soothes over her skin. “This is the last time you’ll have to suffer for me.” 

“Don’t say things like that. I don’t want it to be the last, no matter how mad I get I still— at the end of every day I’m glad it’s you.” 

“Go give that to Jihyo.” Nayeon smiles again, and winces again, and Jeongyeon’s heart is thrust from her body again. “I’ll be okay.” 

The Water Tribe princess paces through dew-wet grass in the courtyard. Moonlight fractures when it strikes the branches of the burned sycamore. 

The nurses have left Nayeon’s bedroom, but Jeongyeon hasn’t. 

“Give them their time,” Sana had said. 

Momo sits on the ground, threading blades of grass through her fingertips. Probably enough things have burned today, so she spares them. She rips at the white, skeletal root of a weed. 

Tonight, she won’t sleep. The bloodbenders will come in the dark, and adjusting her sleep schedule is the singular, passive preparation she’s capable of right now. 

It’s not like she could rest anyway. It seems like Sana knows something— a path forward, maybe— but they haven’t been alone yet to talk through it. Besides that, whatever happens now is Jihyo’s decision, and what happens to Nayeon is something she can’t think about, and Mina walks listlessly through the grass like the wandering center of a hurricane. The calm part, leaving chaos everywhere else. 

Momo has seen them, on Ember Island. That’s where she thought she’d go back to, but now those beaches are burning with funeral pyres. 

Maybe it’s nice, though, that something isn’t Momo’s fault this time. They’re other people’s ghosts. It’s not a nice thought, but it’s one that will help her live. 

When Jeongyeon comes out of the bedroom, sleeve raised, dabbing at her eyes, Mina rushes past her like a wave replacing another. 

Together, Sana and Momo encircle their friend in their arms. 

If any Agni Kai participant was crazy enough to burn themselves, it’s clear that the scribes decided to spare that information from the records. 

After two hours, the Kyoshi Warriors have found absolutely nothing, and now Dahyun is debating with herself about legal precedents as Tzuyu watches Chaeyoung become steadily more pale. 

“On one hand,” Dahyun is saying, “Jihyo did not inflict the burn, so she didn’t win. On the other, Nayeon was burned, so she lost. But on the foot, if you will, Nayeon lost to herself.” 

“I think it’s pretty clear,” Chaeyoung sighs, “that your Fire Lord is ready to ditch this whole thing.” 

“She’s not.” There’s no malice in Dahyun’s voice, but her jaw is set. 

“She threw the Agni Kai.” Despite her obvious exhaustion, Chaeyoung is equally immovable. “Why don’t you want to see this for what it is? The bloodbenders are coming, the Fire Lord is jumping ship, and we’re at the epicenter of a pending massacre that isn’t even _meant_ for us.” 

“This is my home.” Dahyun looks down at her fingers, stained black with ink. “It’s something I can’t take away from myself.” 

The other warrior finally sags, reaching across the table to grasp Dahyun’s hand in her own. “I’m with you. I’m just— my head isn’t in the right place.”

“It’s okay,” Dahyun shines. “Thank you for staying as long as you have.” 

Tzuyu suppresses another yawn, not wanting to touch the thread coupling the two friends together. It’s useless, though, both warriors have become so accustomed to her, the way she once was to prey. But it’s a happy feeling when they glance at her and smile. 

“So, resolution,” Chaeyoung prompts. 

“Jihyo is Fire Lord if she wants to be. And if she doesn’t, I guess, anarchy?” 

“Perfect.” 

As they walk through the halls, Chaeyoung reaches up to secure an arm over Tzuyu’s shoulder. She bends to accommodate this, letting the warrior lean on her for support.

“Still hurt?” 

Chaeyoung just lets her head bump against Tzuyu’s arm. It can’t be comfortable, which somehow makes it sweet, and—

“Stay with me.” 

Chaeyoung doesn’t inflect this like a question, but Tzuyu knows she can say no. “Why?” 

“We don’t have to be alone, Tzuyu.” 

“Are you—” Tzuyu wracks her brain. “Scared of something?” Like how children slip into bed between their parents. 

“No.” Chaeyoung stands in the dark doorway. 

“Okay.” 

When Chaeyoung undresses, Tzuyu turns away and slips her boots off. 

“Do you want a nightdress?”

“I’m fine.” Tzuyu can’t work the stiffness out of her body or out of her voice. When Chaeyoung opens the covers, she cautiously lowers herself onto the cool sheets, afraid to disturb this new, precarious thing that Chaeyoung seems too casual about. 

“You can hold me.” 

“Why?” Tzuyu breathes up into the dark. 

Chaeyoung laughs. “Because it feels nice.” 

The archer shifts awkwardly. She knows she isn’t meant for this; her elbows and hipbones jut out, her hands are usually cold. She’s awkward and too tall and stiff and she isn’t sure how to touch the body beside her in a way that communicates comfort or— or whatever it is Chaeyoung wants, no matter how desperately she wishes she could give just that, and the desperation itself is so sudden and terrible and—

“Do you want me to hold you instead,” Chaeyoung asks this secret softly. 

“No, I can—”

“Turn over.” 

Tzuyu obeys helplessly. Every nerve in her body perks as Chaeyoung secures an arm across her chest, her hand coming to grip Tzuyu’s lowered shoulder. She feels each exhale against the back of her neck, washing away the tension with each outgoing tide of gentle heat. 

“Feel good?” 

There’s something so bold about it. 

Tzuyu will be bold too. “Yes.” 

Nayeon is sitting in front of a mirror when Mina enters. Her fingers pick at the delicate edges of the bandage, not faltering as the door shuts or as Mina begins to speak, to say, ‘please, don’t.’ Nayeon lifts the wax paper and cloth from her face, and together they see the burn for the first time. 

The skin festers, a bright pink, just barely madder than a blush on Nayeon’s cheek. 

“Hah!” Nayeon grins, then winces, then grins again anyways. “Not half bad, right?” 

Mina’s lungs aren’t working. 

“Honestly, it felt like I was unleashing a volcano, but this is— in the grand scheme of things, I wouldn’t say I’m ruined at all.” 

“No, you aren’t.” An unforced tear tickles down Mina’s cheek. 

When Nayeon turns and opens her arms, Mina doesn’t mind that maybe it seems eager to settle immediately in her lap, to turn Nayeon’s face in her hands, to triangulate the wound in the light of the fireplace and the wash of the moon through the curtains. 

Mina knows that this is the part where she’s supposed to ask ‘why would you do something like this’, but Mina is fluent in the language of self-inflicted cruelty. She knows a person can only stand to be symbolic for so long before the pain can’t endure as anything other than a wound. 

“I could heal you,” Mina whispers. “I could take it all away, like— like Momo.” It’s the only reference point she thinks Nayeon might understand. She’s never shown her how water can be used to heal, how she had cleared away hundreds of burns from her own hands after those nights alone in the ice palace, trying to touch the fire for heat, for the simple, cursed sensation of being touched back. 

But now, even as Nayeon’s hands slip beneath the folds of her robe, even as she is warmed in stripes as Nayeon kisses her throat— this is temporary as fire. She’ll have to run and keep running, because no matter where—

“Let’s stop that.” Nayeon’s eyes are bright and kind. “Let’s never feel pain again, not even for each other.” 

“That sounds like a proposal,” Mina murmurs, because it’s better than saying ‘don’t ask me to not give you the one thing I’m capable of.’

“It is.”

Jihyo paces in the palace portrait hall. At one end, is Nayeon’s canvas— unburnt, unbroken, smiling placidly. At the other, is her great-great-many-more-great grandfather. They look nothing alike. There’s no hint of Nayeon’s playfulness or volatility in his greyish eyes or vague frown. But maybe he was like her. Maybe Jihyo will be the first to truly be different, with her tanner, marred skin; her height; her family’s name that is so insignificant she would have forgotten it if not for military log books. 

When Jeongyeon comes in, she doesn’t pause. They’re used to this with each other. 

“Where’s Uncle?” 

“Momo burned his portrait.” Jihyo forgot that Jeongyeon called Nayeon’s uncle that. There was such familiarity. Jeongyeon had wept when he died, even though they had all despised him, and Jihyo had held her until the sobs turned to helpless laughs. “After Tzuyu shot a few arrows through his eyes.” 

“They told you?” 

“I saw.” Jihyo pivots in front of Nayeon again. “That night I was out smoking.” 

“Ah.” Jeongyeon leans against the place where ‘Uncle’ used to be. “What are you thinking about?”

The new Fire Lord puffs out a laugh. “Whatever the fuck just happened.” When Jeongyeon is quiet, Jihyo lets herself go further. “And what you think about it.” She pauses on the next step, not sure she really wants to put any more distance between the two of them. 

It seems like they share this, because Jeongyeon reaches out to brush her fingers over Jihyo’s cheek. “Well, you can ask.” 

Jihyo tilts her face, pressing chapped lips to the inside of Jeongyeon’s wrist.“Tell me,” she whispers to the precious pulse. 

“I don’t want you to think,” the taller woman whispers, “that I don’t believe you deserve this power. It’s just that you don’t deserve the pain that comes with it.” 

Jihyo can only nod. It’s rare to not have words, but she’s sick of talking. She’s sick of saying the wrong thing. She wants to be on the battlefield now, where the lines are clear, and the enemies announce themselves proudly. She wants to be in their bedroom, where there are never lines, where they can hold each other through every stray nightmare and every bad joke. The palace is, technically, her home now— if there were a singular key, she would own it— but that’s nothing like how Jeongyeon is her’s. 

“I need you,” Jihyo rasps against her wrist.

“I’m here for—”

“Need,” Jihyo says again. She doesn’t want to explain this. She shouldn’t have to. 

“Ah.” Jeongyeon’s tongue darts out to wet her lips. “So, we should go back to—”

“Anywhere.” It’s all hers now. 

Jeongyeon shivers, but she doesn’t withdraw. If anything, she leans forward. “Throne room?”

On the raised, black tiled platform, Jihyo cradles Jeongyeon against her— back to chest, arms around her, biting into that immaculate shoulder as the flames roar gloriously upward in front of them. It’s the heat of their skin and of fire and yes, maybe the raw stupid pleasure of enjoying for just a moment that she has a power she never thought she would, and everything is pliant in front of her for a lightning strike second of her life. 

She knows how this looks and maybe that’s part of it. Jeongyeon has been her loyal hiding place, and now— just for a few minutes, just for this fantasy— the world is safe for the two of them. 

Sana and Momo lay shoulder to shoulder in the damp grass. 

Sana is looking up at the dusting of anonymous stars.

Momo is looking at Sana. 

“You have a plan,” she says quietly. It’s a question, even though she doesn’t want to have to ask. After all this time, she shouldn’t have to prompt. 

“I know how to survive.” There’s the slight articulation of Sana’s nose as she breathes, the slightest overhang of her lips around the words. “Or, I know how Nayeon can and how Mina can.” 

“And us?” 

“We’re easy.” 

When Momo lets out a whine— because she wants Sana to look at her, because she wants Sana to say something concrete— a hand comes out to bat at her arm. 

“We’re invincible.”

“Don’t tempt the universe,” she scolds. 

“I’m on their good side,” Sana smiles, eyes still fixed on the stars. “We aren’t sleeping tonight, right?” 

Momo makes an affirmative noise in the back of her throat. 

“It’ll be nice. To be awake for all of this.” 

The sky is nothing like a fire. 

Not yet. 

Nayeon isn’t sure how they ended up on the carpet beside the fireplace— it’s been some blur of incoherent words and breathing and lips caught in teeth— but Mina is above her, black hair mussed out and shining, pupils blown wide. It would be predatory if Nayeon didn’t want it so severely, if the strongest thought pulsing with each beat of her heart weren’t ‘only me’ again and again. 

This is all the power she ever really wanted.

Fuck the throne. 

“When I first met you,” Nayeon pants as her shirt is pulled over her head, “I thought you were like a gem.” 

Mina laughs melodically. She hooks her fingers in the waistband of her pants, pulling down and down and deeper and stares at each inch of skin revealed the way the sun lights the sky. 

“Like this perfectly clear thing,” Nayeon continues, though her mouth is dry, “but that— that maybe there was something deep in you, some stain or—” 

Mina trembles. 

“No, no, what I mean is—” Nayeon leans down, pressing their bare chests together in an urge equally protective and selfish,“that all of that was so silly. We’re just people. We never got to be, but—” 

Mina reaches up, setting her thumb squarely over Nayeon’s bumbling mouth. “Nayeonie.” And there’s something in her eyes, like someone looking at an unfamiliar map, the way she had looked at the ice melting within Nayeon’s mouth. 

“Ah.” Nayeon squirms, trying to rule over impatience. “Oh. I should—”

As they reposition the conversation is quipped like this, suggestions and affirmations half-muttered because even here, on the verge of what is about to happen, it seems too precious to speak. When Mina is finally below her, Nayeon reaches up to bring her hair around her face, obscuring the burn.

“I don’t mind,” the waterbender whispers. 

“It’s ugly.” Nayeon lifts up, wanting to find the bandage. 

“I thought you said you liked it.”

She laughs, and it feels even more wrong to laugh when they are like this— bare, with the lightning scars itching through Nayeon’s spine, and Mina’s unmarred body waiting to be split too, and— “I shouldn’t have made it harder for you to— to look at me.” 

Mina sighs heavily, but a smile twists her face. “We should put the bandage on,” and her finger presses against Nayeon’s lips, shushing her, “because a wound should be covered, and you’ll feel more comfortable. Not because I don’t want to see both your eyes.” 

There are so many chances to stop, but they don’t. Mina smoothes the bandage back across Nayeon’s face, and they relocate to the bed, and maybe there’s some exhaustion pulling at Nayeon’s muscles but Mina takes her by the wrist and brings her hand down. 

Nayeon half expects Mina to hide, but she props herself up on her elbows, watching intently when Nayeon fights against whatever misplaced bashfulness she feels and sinks inside her. 

It’s like a fever, how Mina whispers that she’s never felt full like this, and it takes effort to breathe, and it takes effort to fold her legs up against her chest, and Mina whispers until she forgets words, and Nayeon has forgotten all of that long ago, and when they lay together slick with sweat and kissing impulsively at each other’s wrists and shoulders Mina asks for more, and suddenly there is more to give so Nayeon gives it, and she knows this is all she was ever really meant to be, whole but still half of something better. 

And then when Mina smiles ferociously and puts her moth-soft tongue where Nayeon aches, and whispers incessantly 'Nayeonie' through Nayeon's body until her name is in the wilderness of her mouth, and Nayeon can't help but weep— half at the beauty of Mina, clumsy as she is, smiling between her legs; half at the actual pleasure, the stupid animal need that has her bucking up while Mina's cold fingertips press her back down to the mattress.

When they finally unlatch from each other, Nayeon feels as though she has just finally washed ashore. The sweat-damp bedsheets are her beach, Mina panting is the ocean, and all she can taste is the saltwater of Mina's skin.

"Baby, baby," she harmonizes with the dying heat of the fireplace below them, while Mina laughs wildly into a crushed pillow.

So it's like a tide, the way the tiredness pulls Nayeon away, to a dream of a rust red warmth encased in ice.

Sana and Momo watch the sun rise over the sea, their eyes finally sealing shut. 

“We should go inside,” Sana tries to say, though Momo’s full weight is set against her chest. 

Momo groans, but rises, and Sana slings herself over her shoulders, and they heave back to their bedroom. 

Distantly, a tsungi horn is bending a melody through the halls.

Chaeyoung wakes up Tzuyu’s hair tickling at the edge of her mouth. 

At some point in the night, the headache had dulled and she had been able to follow the rhythm of Tzuyu’s deep, steady breaths into sleep. 

After what happened during the Agni Kai, Chaeyoung wasn’t sure how to talk to the archer about whatever mess of anger and confusion was twisting through her. But maybe this was the right thing. 

Though the morning light is streaming through the windows loudly, Chaeyoung tucks closer to Tzuyu, screwing her eyes shut against a day she isn’t ready for. When fingers flutter over her wrist like the string of a bow, she lets the crescent of her smile cut against Tzuyu’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> Jihyo and Mina play their last game of pai sho. 
> 
> Nayeon takes some inspiration from everyone's favorite war criminal. 
> 
> Everyone prepares for the end.


	22. silver trembling hands

Mina’s dream collapses on the tripwire of an unfamiliar heartbeat.

Despite waking quick and cold, Mina’s hand doesn’t lift from where it rests on Nayeon’s bare back. Her instincts have realigned. 

Like right now, she isn’t clenching the heart in the walls to a pulp. She lowers a kiss to Nayeon’s shoulder— a spell for protection, an apology. 

When the hidden door creaks open and the sun strikes from the curtain to the dark tunnel to where Jihyo stands, not in her uniform but in a simple robe, Mina fishes in the bedsheets for her own. 

The admiral— no, Fire Lord— doesn’t apologize, just looks away politely as Mina covers herself up. 

“I thought we should talk,” Jihyo says lowly. Her eyes are fixed on Nayeon’s snow-white bandage. 

Mina just nods. She doesn’t want her voice to be unsteady, not even in the beginning. She and Jihyo have danced around this for too long, but Mina has lost the high ground. 

She expects them to end up in the throne room, for Jihyo to use every trapping of power now available to her, but instead they sit in the empty dining room, pai sho board between them. 

“I thought one more game,” Jihyo says as she lays out the tiles. 

“That’s sentimental.” 

“Maybe.” 

It’s like a half-hearted duel. Mina has a reply for every one of Jihyo’s comments, and the same works in reverse. They exchange pleasantries three times before Jihyo finally heaves a wave-heavy sigh. “Do you know what’s always in the back of my mind when I’m around you?” 

“No,” Mina says, though she could guess. 

“It’s that you could stop my heart.” The Fire Lord’s scarred hands tremble around a tile. “Or Jeongyeon’s, or Nayeon’s. As easily as I can start a flame in my palm, you can end a life.”

Mina could argue that no, she can’t, because the sun isn’t out, or no, she would never hurt Nayeon, but Jihyo needs more than that. Maybe deserves more than that. “It isn’t easy.” When Mina told Nayeon everything, about her mother and about Momo, she had just listed off sins. She didn’t want an explanation to seem like an excuse. “It isn’t the same as bending something neutral and untethered. When I bloodbend, I’m not putting all the pain into one body. We split it between us, and the only way to make sure my heart is the one beating is to— well, to push it away from myself, and then—”

“So there’s no pleasure?” 

Jihyo looks curious, not skeptical, so Mina considers. There was a relief when she unhinged Momo’s blood from her own, and let it fall useless and still inside the firebender’s veins. But that wasn’t the same as pleasure. It wasn’t like how Sana would smile down at the sparks around her fingers, or the mirror of Nayeon’s flames in the throne room. It wasn’t like water or ice or snow, which belonged to no one, and wanted to be held. The blood would scream until it couldn’t. 

“No,” Mina says finally. 

“Then why do it?”

“To survive.” It’s true. Or it used to be. 

“That would make sense if we were all out on a tundra right now.” Jihyo stretches her arms over her head. “Or if they were all cannibals. But it seems like we’re dealing with something more political than barbaric.” 

“Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s a solution that doesn’t come down to ‘we need to kill more of them than they kill of us.’” Mina feels a streak of self-consciousness at labeling herself not as one of the bloodbenders. It doesn’t seem fully untrue yet. 

“If you’re playing the long game right now, you’d almost be doing a good job.” Jihyo grins. There’s even some humor to it now. “But unfortunately, you’re wrong. The last time I was involved in a war, I thought that was the answer. Just a simple math problem. We need to kill more than they do. But, really, there was one important person, and if they died the war was over.” 

“The Fire Lord,” Mina murmurs, just to demonstrate to Jihyo that yes, she is familiar with this story. 

“Exactly.”

Mina doesn’t need pai sho tiles or a map of the Fire Nation to know what Jihyo is thinking. But, as any great player would, she’ll let Jihyo make the moves for herself. 

“Your father has been crafting this war for a very long time, and yet it’s a mess. Sana single-handedly saves Ember Island. A firebender traitor gets caught. They burn down fortresses they could have used. There are too many mistakes.”

Mina centers a tile on the board. “It’s not a puzzle. They’re just angry and desperate. They aren’t trying to trick you.” 

“Now you’re just talking about yourself.” 

It’s a confrontation, but Mina can’t resist her own smile. It’s not like Sana’s endless sympathy, or Nayeon’s beams of affection, but there’s some safety in looking across the table to see Jihyo, who knows her like an old rival. 

“This is a civil war turned outward. We’re outpacing our resources in the north, and the Fire Nation was never sympathetic, and people have been starving and freezing. So the people had to make a decision, whether they wanted to fight each other or fight someone else. And this is what they chose.” 

“You say ‘the people’, but your father forced a marriage contract almost twenty years ago.” 

It’s ingrained to defend him, even now. “He gave me—”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t hear this.” Beneath the table, Jihyo’s knee is bouncing rapidly. “Nayeon could excuse anything her uncle did. Even the lightning, she’d just brush it off like—”

Interrupting Jihyo is like trying to change the tide. “Lightning?”

“—I know I don’t _know_ your father, but from what I’ve heard, you shouldn’t waste time defending a man like that.” 

“So you’re going to kill him?” 

“I’m sending Momo,” Jihyo replies immediately, like this had already been set in stone. 

“Momo needs to stay and protect the capital.” 

“Fuck the capital.” There’s no anger in it. If anything, it seems like Jihyo is hoping Mina will smile and agree. “There’s nothing of actual value here.”

Mina thinks of her early, confused tours through the palace. The ancient, frayed paintings that Jeongyeon mocked. The statues and fountains set out less like decoration, and more like markers for those lost in the labyrinth. 

But then there were the tunnels that Nayeon had played in as a child. And all the corridors where Mina’s hand had brushed against hers. And the throne room set up like a concave mirror around Nayeon’s—

“We’ll evacuate the capital, and send the fleet out to protect the smaller cities. The scouts said there are hundreds of Water Tribe soldiers coming, there’s no way they’ll funnel all of that into taking a palace under a volcano.” 

“They might.” Mina takes a deep, steadying breath. “The mistakes you pointed out earlier, like burning the fortress even though they could have taken it for themselves? That’s a mistake from your point of view, but this whole war is symbolic. My father could have paid a spy, but instead he wanted me to become Fire Lady even though that would take fifteen years to happen. Even if the palace is empty, they’ll come here.” Like moths to a lantern. 

Jihyo’s jaw is set, her shoulders tense, but again, beneath the table, Mina knows she is trembling. 

“Please believe me,” the princess— no, Fire Lady. 

No. 

Nothing now. 

“I swear, I’m—” 

“Feelings aside,” Jihyo holds a hand up to stop her. “It would be stupid to ignore your counsel.” 

It’s such an official term. Mina looks down at the forgotten game of pai sho. “Your counsel,” she repeats. She had honestly expected that any conversations she would have with Jihyo after the Angi Kai would take place between steel bars. 

“We weren’t born here,” the Fire Lord says, and there’s a significance like this is a secret, “but we chose this place and these people.”

When Jihyo reaches across the table, palm up, offering, Mina takes her hand. As they squeeze out their handshake, Jihyo laughs with her whole chest. 

“If the palace does survive, we should get a painting of this moment. You and I, in our night robes, pai sho board between us, Fire Lord and Mina just—”

Mina doesn’t really hear the rest. That Jihyo could have called her anything— traitor, bloodbender, spy— or even something more measured, like former Fire Lady, Water Tribe princess— but Jihyo just chose her name. Mina can’t help but bring Jihyo’s hand to her lips, leaving a quick kiss on her knuckles. 

“That’s sentimental.” But she doesn’t pull away. 

No one’s heart stops. 

After the war meeting, Tzuyu follows Dahyun and Chaeyoung into the woods. A light afternoon rain pales through the sky, and together they crowd under a wide oak. 

Dahyun is chattering nervously, while Chaeyoung works on climbing up the slicked tree trunk. All three of them are still trying to steady the aftershocks of Jihyo’s defense plan. 

On one hand, they have the advantage of knowing exactly when the bloodbenders will attack— the full moon, in six days. On the other, the bloodbenders will sap power from the moon, and the danger of their assault outweighs the comfort of Tzuyu knowing which night she will die. 

The battle already seems imperfect. Sana and Momo will go north to assassinate the chief of the Northern Water Tribe. Jihyo will station the fleet out in the bay. Footsoldiers will hide in the evacuated houses, ideally surprising a few bloodbenders before their hearts stop. Tzuyu and the Kyoshi Warriors will wait at the palace walls and hold them off. 

Overall, they outnumber the bloodbenders. Though Jihyo didn’t say this, Tzuyu suspects— because Dahyun suspects, and has babbled about it— that the essential, true plan is to throw as many bodies as possible at the bloodbenders, and wait for them to tire themselves out. 

“What I don’t get,” Chaeyoung says from her perch above them, “is why Jihyo is sending Sana and Momo. Sana fried an entire island. We could use that here.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to waste the two best firebenders on a suicide siege,” Tzuyu says. It’s gruff and harsh and uncharitable and shockingly Chaeyoung and Dahyun don’t seem surprised. 

“The princess doesn’t want Momo to go either. Did you see her face when Jihyo said that?” 

Chaeyoung and Tzuyu hum in affirmation. 

It’s not far from here, the river that Tzuyu had watched flow between Mina and Nayeon. That night she couldn’t fit the end of an arrow to her bowstring. If Mina had been willing to hurt Momo just to keep her at the palace, what would she do now that— 

“Tzuyu, what is it?” 

“I didn’t say—”

“You look worried.” Dahyun’s eyes are perpetually kind, even when her lips are set in a sort of smirk. 

“I was just thinking about...something.” 

“Vague,” Dahyun says just as Chaeyoung pipes in with “morbid.” 

“It’s not important.” Tzuyu hopes her tone is strong enough for them to leave it and—

“If you’re thinking about it, it’s important.” Chaeyoung is owlish up in the tree. Tzuyu has the uncomfortable feeling, as she has had since they had woken in bed together this morning, that the warrior can see more than Tzuyu meant to show her. 

So she surrenders. 

“I knew about Mina before anyone else,” she says carefully. There are ways her words could be turned against her, and there’s that constant paranoia prickling at her neck that the bloodbender might be looming. “She brought Nayeon out to the forest, right after she stopped Momo’s heart. And I heard everything.” 

A dam has been pushed past. 

“And after that, I was upset, and I didn’t know what to do, and it should have been obvious but no one wanted to help me. No one asked me what was wrong.” 

It’s childish and stupid and Tzuyu is almost thankful when Dahyun turns stern to say, “I did ask you what was wrong. But you weren’t ready to talk about it, and that’s okay. Just— I don’t want you to think no one cared.” 

“And now it feels important,” Tzuyu continues, her voice faster and less familiar, “because Mina wanted Momo to stay here, that was the entire point of everything she did, and now Momo is leaving and I don’t understand if everyone else has figured out something I haven’t or if we’re all still stumbling around in the dark.”

“The thing is,” Chaeyoung says slowly from above, “Mina was planning on keeping everything a secret when she said that. But now we all know the truth about her, and that’s better.” 

“We have all the information now, Tzuyu.” Dahyun smiles too brightly. “We aren’t in the dark anymore.” 

“Then why am I scared?” 

They don’t have an answer. 

Or they do— for Chaeyoung to lower herself, and for the two Kyoshi warriors to encase her in a firm hug. 

Mina spends the rest of the day in bed with Nayeon. Any inch of her skin that isn’t touching Nayeon aches. Any clothing they slip over their shoulders melts away just as quickly. 

Now, though, exhausted for the next few minutes, Nayeon rests her head on Mina’s bare, flushed chest as the waterbender’s gently rebraids her hair. 

“You’ll just take it out,” Nayeon laughs, but it isn’t a protest. If anything, it’s encouragement. Mina loves the image of Nayeon, on her knees, reaching up to untangle her hair before she falls into another kiss, and the sweet scent of their soap surrounding her as they— 

“There’s something we should talk about,” the firebender says. The air is so still. “I think that I want to go north.”

“With Momo?” 

“No, with Sana. I’ll take Momo’s place. I actually thought of it when the bloodbenders burned the forest a few weeks ago.” A white-hot sting of guilt presses against Mina’s ribs. “Just because it made me think, where’s the best place to start a fire? There has to be a root, right? A perfect tree, tucked away, overgrown and tangled with all the other ones. You burn that tree, and the forest will collapse around it.”” 

Mina is able to muster an “okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“You aren’t asking for permission.” 

Nayeon lifts herself, aligning their eyes. As if that will make this easier. “I’m not leaving you.” 

“I didn’t say you were.” Mina can’t cut the sourness away from her voice. 

“You said yourself that it would be safer for everyone if Momo were here.” 

Mina thinks of Jihyo before, her cutting smile as she said ‘fuck the palace.’ “I don’t care about _everyone_ , Nayeon. I want Momo to be wherever you are.” Unspoken, unnecessary, ‘I want to be wherever you are.’ 

“There’s more than just us.” And then, quietly, “I wish you could love them too.”

Mina isn’t used to feeling angry. Usually there was some weight of dread that choked against this particular animal, but maybe it’s the paradox of safety with Nayeon that lets her stiffen and turn away and the tears of frustration well warmly at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to have to prove myself to everyone.” It was exhausting enough, earlier, sitting in front of Jihyo. One misstep away from being sent to Boiling Rock. Even Jihyo, against all logic, was afraid of her in daylight. Maybe not anymore, but the stress of that conversation had pulled at Mina like a river forming a canyon. “We aren’t even in power anymore, we don’t have to let them take and take and take from us like—”

“What about the rabbit in the—” 

“That’s a _story_ , it’s not a— I wasn’t asking for this.”

Mina isn’t sure what she means by ‘this’, but it’s definitely what Nayeon takes it as— one hand rises to cover the bandage. As if the bandage isn’t already covering what Mina already feels is her own mark. 

She rushes out a stream of ‘no’s’ and ‘Nayeonies’ but the firebender has already folded back into herself. 

The ice that, like a jasmine flower, bloomed in reverse. 

“I don’t mean your burn,” Mina tries to say this both quickly and firmly, but her hands are nervous, stuttering out to try and pull Nayeon back, “I mean I’m scared. And I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t know how to ask that, after everything else.”

“You said yourself, it’s a war with symbols.” 

Mina grits her teeth. “I did, but my father isn’t a symbol of anything, he’s not equivalent to a palace or—”

“Then I’ll burn the palace too.”

Finally, the logic of this knits itself neatly between Mina and Nayeon. 

They’ll clear the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for waiting! i had a very volatile week, i made some political threats, but luckily today i was able to clear my head and write this last hump
> 
> i say hump because i think the final chapters will be much easier to write. i kind of hate just moving the pieces around the chessboard, it’s sorta boring for me
> 
> but i’m very very excited for everything else:-)
> 
> Next time:
> 
> You can guess.


	23. everything in its right place

The first time Sana hurt someone, it was an accident. 

That was a common enough experience. Most firebenders had burned a parent or friend as a child, and Sana remembers her father just laughing gleefully when a candle-thick flame sprouted from her fingertip and pressed into his arm. 

She was always thankful for that, at least— shame never factored into her understanding of fire. She knew it was a gift to be a guardian of something so destructive, and liked the role of standing between a famished flame and its feast. To her, fire was like a pet. She made it do little tricks between her hands, let smoke hiss from her nostrils when she was pretending to be upset. 

Despite all that, it didn’t take her long to understand Momo. Or to feel that she understood Momo. It’s hard to know which is more true, or how important that difference may be. 

If fire was Sana’s showy little pet, then Momo’s relationship to the element is the inverse. Fire has mastered her, possessed her like a furnace. She’s bound to a power that has tempered her, sharpened her, against everything. 

Sana is the sheath. Or she’s trying to be. 

That was the precious thing about their years on Ember Island. With nothing for the fire to eat, Momo softened again. Sana would look out the window Momo’s silhouette like a shadow on the sun as it set over a bluish sea, and think that maybe somewhere she could find a girl who hadn’t hurt anyone before. 

“We should go,” she murmurs, breaking the silence in their bedroom. She knows Momo is awake even though her breathing is so even as she lets all her weight sag over Sana’s chest, heart laying heavy 

“We should go,” she murmurs, breaking the pristine silence of their bedroom. 

Momo’s blinking eyelashes flutter against her neck. 

Momo’s heart lays heavy over her own. 

“You want to see me off, don’t you?” She pokes at Momo’s side, hoping that if she acts playful enough her voice might catch up. She wants to go, to help Nayeon, but she doesn’t want this act of leaving. She wants to cut out all the time she’ll spend on the ship, in the palace, and be here in this bed as if the next few days are just an intended nightmare. 

After they’ve fished their clothes out from between the sheets, they walk through the cold, empty halls of the palace.

At dawn, they gather at the docks. 

The sailors are busy with the skiff, lugging supplies on deck like flies flitting over a steel carcass. 

Mina’s hand drifts from Nayeon’s shoulder to the small of her back, as if she can wipe away thoughts like that. As if they’re borne on the spine like slashes of a whip. 

Jihyo is giving orders, dwarfed by the hand-me-down Fire Lord robe that was once Nayeon’s. It’s embellished with gold that flashes even in this dull sunlight. 

Beside her, Jeongyeon and Sana are muttering to each other. Momo, still sleepy, blinks between them. 

Completing the set, Dahyun, Tzuyu, and Chaeyoung are sitting on the edge of the dock, their pants rolled up so their legs can drift in the cold saltwater. 

“Are you nervous,” Mina asks before she presses an absent kiss to Nayeon’s shoulder. 

She mumbles an affirmation. It’s too hard right now, to cut the nervousness into its own separate, speakable pieces. There’s an intensity she can direct at anyone on this dock, a premature grief she can’t let herself feel. It would become a curse that way. 

“Go talk to her,” Mina urges, and Nayeon isn’t sure who she means exactly, but her eyes find Tzuyu first and she takes a step as if pulled. 

“Take a walk with me,” she says as soon as her shadow passes over the archer’s back. Tzuyu turns, a slight frown drawing down the corners of her mouth. 

They start slow, Tzuyu minding her gait, as they walk the length of the dock, back toward land. 

“So. Chaeyoung,” Nayeon starts. Of course she’s curious. She’s noticed how Tzuyu is always turned toward her, the way the moon perpetually shows its face to the earth. 

“Don’t tease,” the archer says stiffly even as Nayeon slips her hand around Tzuyu’s waist, leaning almost awkwardly against the taller girl’s shoulder. “It’s…new. Delicate.” 

“After all this, you can run away to Kyoshi Island together.” Nayeon thinks of it, and hopes Tzuyu is thinking of it too. The white chalk mountains there, and the long beaches. She thinks of Chaeyoung, bare-faced and maybe sunburned, cutting into the flesh of some foreign, unimaginable fruit and offering it to Tzuyu. Their full, dimpled smiles. They’re the only ones who still look young, even after everything. And maybe they can have this achingly simple life unfolding like waves on—

“We’re probably going to die.” Tzuyu’s voice is soft but, as always, resolute. Sometimes her calm can be intoxicating, but Nayeon is too tightly wound right now for her to do anything but scoff. 

“Did Chaeyoung say that?” 

Tzuyu looks up at the vine-choked slats above the breezeway, to where the moon is half-ripe. “No.” 

“You can’t think that way, Tzuyu.” It’s meant to be a teasing scold, but her voice wavers. In a way, it’s what Nayeon was hoping for; a reckoning, a conversation Tzuyu had never wanted to have behind the bars of her cell. “This is going to work. Jihyo is going to work. She’s a fighter and a survivor and she’s like _you_.” It’s a kinder way of saying ‘commoner.’ Though maybe Nayeon can count herself as one now. “I’m not a strategist or a soldier, I was just chained to that throne and—” 

“Chained,” Tzuyu repeats, coming to an abrupt stop. For once, she doesn’t look painfully young. The morning sun angles her face in shadow. 

“You know what I mean.” If Nayeon sounds impatient, it’s because she is. Maybe it was unfair, but she had expected Tzuyu to maybe hug her and hold her and say goodbye and let that be it. But apparently she can’t have something simple, even now, even from Tzuyu. 

“Sometimes there’s a gap between what you feel,” Tzuyu says slowly, “and what is happening.” The archer crosses her arms tightly over her chest, like she’s trying to hold herself within these boundaries, like a cage might be more comfortable right now. “Chaeyoung did tell me that.” 

Nayeon waits for the earth to shift. 

“I followed you that night, when you went into the woods with Mina.” 

In her mind, Nayeon fits the yellow lens of Tzuyu’s eye over her own. She tries to see that night again, but not as she had— Mina dripping with moonlight, the river fleeing past their ankles. How does Tzuyu see Mina? As a snake’s tense jaw? Does she see Nayeon as the tender skin of a throat? 

“Your head was in the way.” 

A laugh startles from Nayeon’s throat like a raven lifting from underbrush. “What?”

“I couldn’t kill her because you were in the way.” When Tzuyu breathes it’s like wind through a line of trees. “And now you’re leaving.” 

“Is that a threat.” Nayeon doesn’t have the evenness right now to inflect that into a question. Her palms are too warm and Tzuyu is timber. 

The archer looks down at her own hands. “I need to know what’s changing. Because apparently so much has, but no one told me anything. And how can I do the right thing if I don’t _know_ , if you won’t tell me where each arrow is supposed to go, which wolves to—”

Nayeon is trying to untangle this as Tzuyu’s voice gets quicker and quicker. “Mina is not an animal. Is that— is that how you see people?” 

The archer huffs, eyes searching desperately for some sort of anchor. Not for the first time, Nayeon thinks they aren’t speaking in the same language, with the same set of vocabulary and meanings. Tzuyu had a different life than she did, but she’s never asked. Maybe she should have. 

“What I’m trying to say,” she starts slowly, “is I’m being left behind. I don’t understand Mina and I don’t understand you. And now you’re leaving.” 

There have been moments before where Nayeon feels like there is some great focus of sunlight that swivels toward her, a brightness where she is supposed to make the right decision. It happened in the throne room when she drew the flames around her uncle. It happened the night Mina lowered herself over Nayeon’s thigh. It’s happening now, because somewhere along the line she forgot this. All these other living people who still think she is the messenger for how to live, what to want, who to kill and who to save, all while she had wanted that person for herself too. 

“The distance between who you are and who Mina is,” she says, more hearing the words as they come, rather than thinking and dictating, “is smaller than the distance between Mina and her father.” She’d tell Tzuyu if she could, that they had both been prisoners for so long, raised in brutality, but that should be Mina’s own secret to share. “We can’t just keep hurting the people who are like us, because then who will we fight with? And what’s real,” Nayeon’s voice is getting wider with momentum, “isn’t what island we’re born on, or what element we bend, but—” Impossibly, Nayeon feels the phantom brand of Mina’s hand on the small of her back. “—what we’re willing to tell the truth about.” 

Tzuyu’s yellow eyes finally lift to Nayeon’s. 

“What Mina did was brave. What you’re doing is brave. I’m hoping that what I’m about to do is brave.” 

She waits for Tzuyu to say the expected thing, like how the archer feels that she’s being punished anyways, that too many miscalculations have melded into a mountain, but her voice is soft when she says, “You’re an arrow of intent.” 

“I’m going to go through the right skull.” 

Tzuyu’s smile is wide and wolfish. 

As soon as Nayeon leaves Mina’s side, Sana drifts into the space left. 

“Maybe we could talk too,” she says, but the smile is shallow. Despite the closeness of the sea, Mina doesn’t feel exactly calm. Sana is like a token of shame. Mina had tried to shed her other ones— the lying, the Water Tribe pendant that used to press against the skin of her chest. 

But Sana is a breathing, beating thing who has seen deeper than Mina ever wanted her to. 

So of course she nods and lets the firebender gently angle her in the opposite direction of Nayeon and the archer. When she glances over her shoulder for anyone to save her, only Momo is looking. 

“Sana, I should—“ 

“This is where it happened, right?” Sana’s bright eyes are expectant. “Where you killed her.” 

“Yes,” Mina breathes. But it looks different now. That night, everything was pulsing. The contours of the dark guided her to Momo like any hunter to any prey. But now it’s sad and grey and pathetic. 

“And out there,” Sana points at the ashen sea. “You saved her.” 

“For selfish reasons.” So Momo would stay. So she would save Nayeon from Mina’s own trap. 

“We’re selfish for the same things.” Sana inhales sharply through her nose. “I have a favor to ask.” 

“Anything,” Mina whispers. 

“Don’t let her take everything with her. I told Jeongyeonie too, but—“ Her voice is pleading and Mina feels too small. “You can put out the fires, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Mina says, because she’ll promise anything. Against logic, against self-preservation, she wants Sana’s forgiveness.

Sana’s fingers intertwine with her own. “You play pai sho, right?” The firebender doesn’t wait for Mina’s stiff nod. “Like the tiles, we all have a position. I’ve seen people cured just by being in the right place. For Nayeon, it will always be a throne room. For me, it was the mountains and for you it’s this dock. We’ll play a better game this time. We’ll make better mistakes.” 

“I’ve already made so many.” Sometimes Mina wishes she had run instead. She could have flickered Nayeon’s beloved heart and swept them away on the river. She could have encased them in ice, preserved their bodies in an infinite curl around each other, and shut away the ugly truth of herself. 

And even before that, she could have never hurt Sana or Momo, never let the fortress burn around Jihyo, never let Ember Island become a graveyard. 

“I’m thankful,” Sana whispers against her ear. It might even be a kiss. “Sometimes it’s hard to know, but our decisions ripple out. and break like storms on the shore The worst things we’ve done can bring good, Mina. Maybe every good thing we have is because someone, somewhere, did something hideous.”

It’s true. If her father hadn’t pressed her hand to the quill, and the quill to the ink, and the ink to the parchment in the shape of her name, she wouldn’t have had Nayeon. 

Sana’s breath is humid in her hair. “Now all that’s left is to live for it.” 

When the skiff launches, Mina feels every wave as if they’re breaking over her own body. She’s been saying goodbye for hours, and here’s the final one as the steel of the ship finally slips over the horizon. The feeling of Nayeon’s mouth on her own will hopefully fade slower. 

Jeongyeon stands beside her, maroon scarf muffling her voice. “She’ll be okay.” 

When Mina first got to the palace, the idea of how many people loved Nayeon made her suspicious, jealous. Now it’s a comfort when the diplomat bumps their shoulders together. “We’ll be okay, too.” 

From the palace hall, Jihyo can hear a tsungi horn weaving a squeaked melody from her own closed door. The two guards that stand on either side are grimacing with each hazardous bend of the pitch. 

Dahyun could use some more practice. 

When she enters, she sees the Kyoshi Warrior cross-legged on her bed, Jeongyeon holding the golden instrument to her pursed lips. 

“Darling,” the Fire Lord says with a half-mocking, half-reverent smile. “Please don’t.” 

Jeongyeon lets the horn loose a wail as Dahyun giggles helplessly. 

“I might need a new career after all this,” Jeongyeon says. Her cheeks are ruddy from the breathless effort. “Diplomacy seems to have fallen out of fashion.” 

“Don’t say that,” Jihyo plops on the bed. “There will be a lot of cleaning up to do.” 

Jeongyeon mumbles something as she drops a quick kiss to Jihyo’s forehead. 

“Speaking of which,” Dahyun says, “the evacuation went smoothly. Or as smoothly as it could.” It’s been two days since Nayeon and Sana left. In that time, Jihyo has been splitting her time between ensuring that the rest of the Fire Nation can withstand any attacks from the Water Tribes— it still seems preposterous that their entire fleet will focus on the capital— and also preparing her own small, elite force for the impending strike. 

Which is tomorrow. 

“Mina told me a few days ago that all the Water Chiefs want is the capital.” 

“Good fucking luck,” Jeongyeon harshes under her breath. It’s true— the capital is curved like a crescent around the bay. It’s already designed like the mouth of an octopus trap. 

“But, in all of the Fire Nations history, they’ve never faced an assault from a fleet armed to the teeth with waterbenders,” Dahyun points out.

Jihyo pokes the warrior lightly on the knee. “They?”

“We,” Dahyun corrects. “ _We_ need a better plan.” 

“The bloodbenders don’t know that we’ve evacuated the capital,” Jeongyeon offers. 

Sometimes lack of information can be an advantage. 

But not now.

“If anything, that makes it easier,” Jihyo counters. “We’ve cleared a path for them between the docks and the palace.” 

“Then we let them come.” Dahyun’s eyes light up. “Lull them into a false sense of security, get them into an environment we understand better, and then pounce.” 

“If Mina’s right, and we’re facing against hundreds of them, that’s just— it won’t work.” 

Dahyun looks down at her hands. “Can we trust her?” 

“If she was going to lie, she’d say there’s nothing to worry about. And besides, I’ve covered all the corners of the Fire Nation.” Jihyo still can’t get her mouth around the simple ‘I trust her.’ Maybe she never will. 

“We don’t have enough troops to defend the bay, the city, and the palace,” Jeongyeon huffs. 

“You can evacuate too if you want.” Jihyo means it. Jeongyeon is the only non-combatant left. She _can_ fight, as any firebender can, but the Fire Lord wouldn’t—

“I’m with you.” 

“On Kyoshi Island—“

The diplomat swats at Dahyun’s leg. “I’m _not_ going to Kyoshi Island. It’s a cult.”

“No, what I mean is I have an idea.” The warrior sits up straighter, eyes bright. “On the island, villagers go out to fish. They told me this thing, about how the dolphinfish have all these clicks and chirps and creaks, and they make so much noise that they can panic the fish they hunt.” 

“That sounds useful for an animal that is twenty times as big as its prey,” Jeongyeon says. “But in this case, we’re the fish.” 

“You’re firebenders,” Dahyun continues, unfazed, grinning brilliantly. “You make the chaos.” 

Heavy sheets of rain slap against the steel shell of the skiff. 

Below deck, on a thin mattress, Nayeon is awake. 

It’s like echolocation in a dark cave, each strike of lightning and then the inevitable thunder calling back. The room of the sky is big, and the world is bigger, and Nayeon wishes for everything to be small and clear again. 

She wishes for that and she wishes for morning, when the sun will somehow split the storm in half, and then she and Sana can sail through the forest of icebergs to find Mina’s palace of ice. 

It’s nothing but inevitable when the door opens for a candle and the hands around it, and Sana’s face flickering in orange light. 

“You should have called me,” her friend scolds quietly, laying a cool hand over Nayeon’s trembling wrist. 

“I knew you would come.” 

No. She hoped. 

“Is this okay,” Sana whispers, arms hovering around the edges of Nayeon’s body. 

“Yes.” 

Here, in a thunderstorm, in Sana’s arms, Nayeon again feels an odd twist of her stomach, the same as when she would dangle her legs off a balcony and stare down at the distant forest below. She feels too high up, able to see in miniature so many mistakes and failures— Sana and Momo, coming back from Ember Island. She hadn’t asked them to come then, but they had. Like moths foolishly drawn to a flame. 

Her ignorance of the Water Tribe’s true aims. 

The way she pushed Jihyo. 

Her own, traitorous, burning hand, brought to the skin of her face. The scar still sears. 

“Mina held me too,” she confesses. “There was a storm one night, and— do you ever think of one moment, one time someone touched you, and know it was all worth it just for that?” 

“Of course, Nayeonie.” Sana’s voice is feather-soft against the back of her neck. 

The ship quakes against another assault of waves and thunder and rage. 

“Did you tell her?” 

Nayeon knows what Sana means. About the lightning etched scars along her spine. 

“You know, I forget they’re there. It’s not like I ever see them.” 

“Nayeon.” Sana is almost scolding. 

“What do you feel when you bend?” 

“Honestly?” Sana’s voice is small, her question unnecessary. “Beautiful.”

Of course she would. 

“I don’t feel much of anything,” Nayeon whispers against the rough cotton of her pillow. “Sometimes, though, it’s like this anger that, if I let it, would swallow me up too. And do I really have anything to be _that_ angry about? I have everything I ever wanted. That anger, that fire did nothing but take it away.” 

Through all this, Sana was rising like the sun over the horizon of Nayeon’s body. Her cold fingers tilt Nayeon’s cheek away, and she knows that now her half-burned face is there. She never wanted anyone to see her like this, so ugly and weak and hateful. That’s not what anyone wants her to be. She should keep pretending— 

“I’m very lucky.” Sana’s voice wavers with the ship and the storm. “That moment, my moment of knowing it was worth it— I have so many, Nayeonie. You’re in some of them.” 

When she leans down, Nayeon’s heart panics in her chest. Mina isn’t here to know that. But Sana’s lips are pressed to her forehead, not her lips, and her hands brush away from the angles of Nayeon’s jaw. 

“This could be one too,” Sana says, eyes shining, when she resurfaces. “This could be the moment where you know, finally, that you’ve fought and you’ve tried and that’s all we can ask from each other.” 

Outside the ship, lightning splits the sky. 

Nayeon shudders into Sana’s arms. 

Tzuyu sits on the floor of Chaeyoung’s room as the warrior paints her face in front of the wide mirror. 

Spread around her are all the components of the arrow. 

Jihyo said there will be hundreds of skulls and hearts. 

Tzuyu has to work harder, work faster. 

The Kyoshi Warrior’s role, and thus Tzuyu’s role by default, is to wait in the pine forest that sprawls out from the palace walls. They’re the last line of defense and, ideally, won’t have much to do. 

But, in Tzuyu’s experience, plans don’t work. No matter Jihyo’s credentials as an admiral or Dahyun’s tact as a strategist, the human animal is unpredictable. 

An arrow is predictable. 

“Do you want me to do you,” Chaeyoung asks just before she swipes the red paint in a slash across her lips. 

“Ah.” Tzuyu looks down her whittling knife. “Why?” 

“No reason,” the warrior leans toward the mirror to check her work. “I just thought it might be nice.” 

“Why would it be nice?” 

Sometimes Tzuyu fears that her constant need for clarification would annoy Chaeyoung, the way sometimes it would exasperate Nayeon. But they don’t. For some reason. 

“I’d like to make eye contact with you for a couple minutes.” Chaeyoung’s cheeks dimple with a smile. 

“Okay.” 

She keeps as still as possible when Chaeyoung crouches in front of her, first spreading the white across her full face, then painting in the details with a thin, ticklish brush. 

“I hope you know,” the warrior says, biting her lip in concentration, “that this doesn’t mean I don’t like your tattoo.” Her big, dark eyes meet Tzuyu’s. “I just thought it would be nice to feel like you’re part of the group.” 

Tzuyu wants to say ‘I don’t care about that’ but she knows not to move. She wants to, later, be brave enough to tell Chaeyoung what Nayeon said on the dock, about the life they could have on Kyoshi Island. She wants to know if that’s impossible to dream of. She wants to say ‘I just want you to look at me like this again and again.’ 

“What do you think,” Chaeyoung asks, gently angling Tzuyu’s shoulders so she can see herself in the mirror. 

“It’s good,” Tzuyu says, turning back to focus on the arrows spread around her and Chaeyoung like wreckage. 

“Tzuyu.” There’s something different about Chaeyoung’s face, an anxiety trembling at her lips. Tzuyu wishes she was something else. Something that could smooth that away. “I trust Dahyun and Jihyo and you and myself. But there’s— I’m going to ask you something. And you can say no. In fact, I really want you to say no if that’s how you feel.” 

“Okay.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Why?” 

Chaeyoung laughs, hands twisting in the front of her robe. “Because I want to know what it’s like.” 

“To kiss?”

“To kiss you.” 

Tzuyu leans forward. “Okay.” 

Chaeyoung’s fingers catch against the archer’s shoulders. “Can I get a little more enthusiasm?” 

Like running breathless, suddenly the weight of Tzuyu’s own body sinks against her. The unimportant heartbeat emanating from her own chest is the singular sound, not Chaeyoung’s happy laughter, not the distant shrill of late fall cicadas. 

“Please,” she whispers. It’s too honest. Already winded, she gasps against Chaeyoung, molding her own uncertain lips to the warrior’s certain, perfect ones. 

Too soon, Chaeyoung is leaning away, grinning goofily, red paint smeared across her mouth. 

“I need to— the arrows,” Tzuyu coughs. “The arrows need to—“ 

“I’ll help you.” 

A harsh wind pulls over the length of the skiff, the serrated edges of cold cutting through Sana’s robe. 

On the horizon is a thin line of white, lit in the night by the impaling brightness of the moon. 

Beside her, Nayeon is shivering too. The inherent heat of their bodies is worth little here. 

“Mina told me once,” Sana says, throat dry with the frigid air, “that half the year it’s dark. The stars move in swirls around it like a swarm.” 

Nayeon says nothing. 

“And when we came to the palace, Momo said it was like the center of the earth. Isn’t that funny, Nayeonie? How we all have different centers?” 

The disgraced Fire Lord, her ex-lover, her destined friend, reaches out from the warmth of her coat to take Sana’s hand. “For me, it’s always someone else’s throne.” 

They laugh their breath into the cold. 

Momo sits in the soft sand of the dunes, arms curled around her knees. 

Out on the edges of the bay, the Water Tribe’s fleet rise like crows from a mountain pine. 

Above her, the moon is swollen a sickly yellow. 

“They need to be closer.” Mina speaks softly, the breeze carrying her voice from behind. 

“I know.” 

The fire has already started in Momo’s veins. It screams against her skin, scratching, begging to feed. Before her, the ocean is wide and calm, whitecaps flashing in their lazy, incoherent rhythm. “What does water want?” 

Mina sinks into the space beside her. 

“Or what does blood want?” 

“Momo, I—“ 

“That’s all I mean.” Momo fills her fists with sand. “When you hear my blood, what does it ask for?” 

Fire is always a chant of more, more, more. 

Water must be different. 

“There aren’t words for it,” Mina says carefully. Her eyes never leave the bay. “Otherwise I’d never sleep.” 

“Can you feel your own?” 

“Yes.” In the moonlight, the bluish veins on Mina’s hands nearly glow. “I— I like hearing other people’s blood better. Sometimes I’m afraid, if I listen to myself too long, I’ll hear when it stops.” 

Momo props her chin up against her knees. “We all have our curses.” 

“You’re different.” Mina stirs shapes into the sand between them. “Or everyone says you are.” 

The ships are closer, but not enough.

“I’m a convenient freak to have around.”

“Me too,” the bloodbender says lightly. And then, with a frown that creases down her face, “sometimes I wonder why I am what I am. But then I think, how could I have been anything else?” 

“I think that too.” Momo’s voice is softer than she meant for it to be. 

The Water Tribe is clearer now. 

“Water changes, though. The tides come up and go out. Rivers find new paths. Blood is fast and then slow.” Mina rises, sand falling from her hands. “I like to think people can be like that too. We’re mostly water, anyways.” 

“Are they here?” 

“Yes.” 

Momo lifts herself up, stretching her legs after hours of this sigil. 

When the first spring of fire lifts from her fist to the sky, rigged Fire Nation warships burst open in the bay. Fireworks bloom against an unclouded sky. The drums begin, beating faster than her heart, all in perfect disorder. 

Momo gathers the white hot point imprinted at the center of each of her palms, and gives way to her ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have so much to be thankful for:-) 
> 
> (all your patience, all your time, and much more)
> 
> and also a special lil thank you to lia for helping me out with the ever-important tsungi horn storyline
> 
> [i don't tweet](https://twitter.com/sawah2129)
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> Tzuyu hunts. 
> 
> Nayeon finds the final destination for her rage. 
> 
> Momo and Mina dance.


	24. the tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i'm sure you could guess, there's violence in basically every scene of this chapter. i think most of it is poetic enough, but. yknow. that's the warning. 
> 
> also: this is the finale! there's another chapter spot left, for an epilogue, but as far as like. what's gonna happen. this is it. thank you for sticking with me!

Like the tightly coiled center of a hurricane, Mina stands beside Momo on the highest dune as the Fire Nation battleships bloom whitely in the bay. Flaming teeth tear away the blue flesh of the Water Tribe’s sails. That chorus of screams match in pitch and stretch over the shivering waves, the first rush of this new war crashing against the furious drums pelting from the palace above. 

Mina tilts her face up at the full-throated moon, unblemished and unhurt. 

The waterbenders leap from their burning ships, conjuring thin paths of ice to dash on, splintering the water with fractured tracks forward. 

Mina begins to bend, folding wave over wave. The tide moves at the same pace as her breath— mouth to lung, layering over and over. She pulls them— these people, who shivered in the North the same nights she did, who maybe even in this world of noise can hear her heart pounding beside Momo’s— she pulls them back down into the sea where they gasp against the muscles of the currents, and then never again. 

It strikes her, as Momo unchains a stinging whip of fire from her fists, that she won’t know how many people die tonight, and how many will be by her own hands. 

Just not Nayeon, she prays to the sky that stretches in its darkness from her to wherever her wife is tonight. 

Just not Momo, who raises a wall of flames and pushes it toward the stragglers on the edge of the beach. 

Not Sana, either. Not Jeongyeon or Jihyo. 

Like the tightly coiled center of a hurricane, Mina and Momo coax an inferno of heat and ice around themselves, steam twining out as they burn and drown and cut person after person from life. 

A harsh wind lifts up the slope of the volcano. 

Jihyo leans against the parapet, telescope at a bruising pressure against her eye. 

It was a risk to detonate the half-dozen warships they did, but it had the intended effect— the enemy is scrambling, pouring into the mouth of the trap in their common panic. 

But of course it isn’t flawless. In the wash of light— both red and white— she can see the waterbenders fleeing to the sides of the crescent-shaped bay. They’ll run through the empty city, avoid Mina and Momo on the beach, and swarm up to the palace. 

Deep in her chest, fear flickers like a weak candle. 

The Fire Lord forms a fist at her side.

It’s the same size as her heart. 

The Northern Water Tribe’s palace is as simple as a tombstone. The ice shines, marbled in the moonlight. 

Sana stands dutifully beside Nayeon, teeth chattering in the blank cold. 

There aren’t many people left in the city streets. Nayeon assumes most of them have gone off to fight, and those who remain are skittish. 

Still, it would be stupid to just walk to the front gates and demand the audience she wants. 

Instead, as Mina had told her, they walk along the western wall, her warm hand skating along the shrill ice until she finds where it is thin as lace. It’s the escape route Mina had made but never used. It burns open easily, not like the rest of the ice which is packed so anciently Nayeon is useless against it. 

As she hunches into the tunnel, Sana grasps at her coat sleeve. “We don’t let him talk.” 

Nayeon only nods. 

Then, together, crawling like children, they inch inside the frozen body. 

On the parapet, Jeongyeon props the tsungi horn on her knee. She can now keep a steady tone for an average of three seconds. 

“They’re almost here,” Jihyo says. “In the woods.” She just sent a guard away with the order for the drums to stop. Tzuyu said she wanted silence, or as close as she could get to it. 

The diplomat huffs an arpeggio against the mouthpiece. “That was pretty good, yeah?” 

“I should be fighting.” 

“You’re the Fire Lord. Not having to actually fight is one of the only perks you get.” 

“I’m good at it, though.” 

It feels wrong, not to be with the people who are fighting. Most of all, because they’re fighting for her. 

In the last war, she had taken every order and transformed it into a flame. Tonight, though, there are Tzuyu’s arrows and Chaeyoung’s stone fists, Momo’s personal inferno and Mina’s shards of ice. None of them are soldiers. Their loyalty wasn’t bought with a monthly stipend of gold coins. 

The battlefield is littered not just with bodies, not just with bombs, but all the secret reasons a person has to hurt another. 

Jihyo should fight. 

She has a reason better than she did in the last war.; the horror coursing its ice-slick body through her own muscles, the hatred that stings at the corners of her eyes, is raw and rough as when that bloodbender twisted her into nearly nothing. 

Is this the curse of the Fire Lord? To know, below everything, simmers a selfishness.

She’s nothing but a child, tonight, asking the strong to clean her of a nightmare. 

Tzuyu nestles herself in the bony embrace of a wide oak. Along the branches, she’s loosely tied the arrows that don’t fit in her quiver. 

Dahyun is perched above her, spectacles shining like the eyes of an owl. 

Chaeyoung is holding the edges of the forest, where the trees taper off into the stone of the palace walls. 

For now, it is almost quiet. The cicadas’ song snaps and spits like fat in the cast iron blackness.

Tzuyu slows her breathing, thinking of the tree she is trying to be invisible in. How its branches and its roots are mirrors of each other, knitting together the totality of the forest, and maybe even further than that. The dark, rich soil of the volcano’s ash. If she can be like that, part of this constant system of life overflowing into death— if that system can give her its blessing, to do what she is about to— 

“East,” Dahyun whispers, her voice barely bending the monotonous, tense pitch of the forest. 

First, the arrowhead, then Tzuyu’s eye, peek past the edge of the oak. 

The thrill of the archer is never in the proximity of the kill. 

It’s the pleasure of patience. 

When the first arrow comes, the bloodbenders will know. 

When the first arrow comes, it will be the snap of a snare around a rabbit’s foot in the loneliest shadow.

For now, they are silly as a herd of deer, fleeing from one trap into the next, trampling the underbrush. They think this is the safe part. 

Tzuyu’s only option now is to hope for the goodness of each arrow, hope for it in the way Nayeon might hope for the goodness of Mina. She has to believe the truth of the arrow is that it carries each person on an unfaltering line into the next, better life.

Into the world where she is not an archer. 

“East,” Dahyun hisses again. “Tzuyu, they’re too—“ 

The first arrow finds a throat. 

The second, too. 

Then a chest. 

A skull for the fourth. 

As her hands and eyes work on their own, Tzuyu listens to the cicadas. 

Their song alone is a life for them. A blur with a hundred heartbeats.

The end of the ice tunnel is not a throne, not a war table, but a small, simple bedroom. It’s unkempt, the thick blankets unfolded, a litter of papers spilling off a cramped desk. 

In the corner, there’s a fireplace. Nayeon only notices because, compared to the simplicity of the rest of the room, the fireplace is intricate. Of course, like everything, it’s formed with ice, but it isn’t sharp. Instead, impressions of flames feather up, layering over each other in shades of white. 

“Nayeonie,” Sana calls from where she stands by the desk, holding a piece of parchment out with an urgent shake. “It’s a map.” 

“Just a second.” Nayeon kneels, looking down at the crude spread of flint and black-cracked driftwood in the mouth of the fireplace. This was Mina’s cell. There’s no better word for it. This is where Mina dreamed of her, formed some perfect girl in her mind and gave life to something Nayeon wasn’t. 

Blue flames spill from her hands as she lights what little firewood is left. 

She forces it higher, higher and hotter, so that the edges of Mina’s ice flames begin to drip against the tiled floor as fast as rain. 

Nayeon places her palms flat on the floor, bending forward to press her lips to the back of her hands.  
“I know I’m late,” she whispers against her skin. “But if you’ll still have me, I’m finally here.” 

There aren’t screams. 

There can’t be. When the bloodbenders tether themselves to the bodies of the Kyoshi Warriors, there’s no warning that comes up to where Dahyun is perched in the oak tree beside Tzuyu. 

She watches them— her friends, nameless for now in the chaos, their faces all the same algorithm of white and agony— but later she might. Later, if she ever reaches it, she’ll wipe away their warpaint with a cotton cloth, bring them back to the Island, and fold their bodies into the earth. 

She watches them as Tzuyu looses arrow after arrow out. 

“North-east,” she shouts, and the archer turns in a half-moon. 

Another bloodblender crumples.

It’s not enough. 

There are ten of them for every warrior in the woods. 

Dahyun raises the hunter’s horn from where it hangs on a leather strap at her side. 

Chaeyoung leans against against the outer wall of the palace, head tipped back to watch the singular pillar of smoke rising from the east. She flexes her right hand beneath its stone-laden glove. 

Between her and the sea, between her and Kyoshi Island, is the forest. 

Threaded beneath the root systems are the steady, rhythmic shocks of bodies falling. 

Everything, since she and Dahyun landed on the straits with the Kyoshi Warriors, has told her she should run. All the bodies they found were twisted around themselves, bones snapped, self-inflicted bruises on their throats, and Chaeyoung wanted to unknow it. She wanted to leave the Fire Nation to their own punishment. 

She had run from the Dai Li. She could run from the Kyoshi Warriors too. She loved Dahyun, but she could live with the guilt as long as she got to live at all. 

But every morning she woke here, again. Every night she stared out at the paths to somewhere safe, and remained. 

Things have changed, for Chaeyoung, since she’s been on Fire Nation land. 

She doesn’t see trees. She sees timber. 

She doesn’t see water. She sees an answer. 

When Dahyun’s horn is carried by the wind, she only tenses. It should be natural to go, but it’s not. Every muscle in her body is rigid in a final fear. 

Here’s the sick thought: if she leaves, she won’t have to see it. She won’t have to know what her friends look like with dull eyes, with paralyzed, silent shouts. And no one will have to see her like that, either.

There is another voice in the earth. 

Jihyo is running, her heavy robes and armor thrown off for speed, just a pale tunic slurring through the thorns— Jihyo is running, each articulation of her boots on the straw rippling the world beneath her. 

Before the Fire Lord can disappear into the single, great shadow of the forest, Chaeyoung follows. 

When they enter the Water Tribe’s throne room, Sana doesn’t wait. 

She threads lightning through the men and women who stand in a crescent around the throne, the heavy furs draped over their shoulders useless against electricity’s white-toothed hunger. 

But she leaves one man. The one with eyes like Mina’s. The one who smiles serenely, leaning back, and says, “That was uncivilized.” He really does look so much like Mina. The wide, gummy smile. The same perfect posture. 

He’s for Nayeon, alone. 

At least, that’s what Sana is thinking. Which doesn’t make sense, because she’s tripping forward toward the throne on buckled knees. 

Both of the chief’s hands are raised, fingers pinched around invisible strings as he bends Sana toward him. 

It doesn’t matter that Sana is willing with every nerve ending in her body to not turn with the twist of his wrist. 

She does. 

Nayeon stands inhumanly still at the doors. Her face is blank. Her pupils are blown wide in black panic. 

“You know,” Mina’s father says softly, “I’ve studied the Fire Nation all my life. You’re a barbaric breed— maybe it’s a sick fascination, but there’s something I’ve been curious about.” 

Sana’s stomach cramps painfully as she bends at the waist in a mirrored bow with Nayeon. 

“The Agni Kai.” His voice raises, echoing in the large, cold room. “I heard you lost your last one. For coming all this way, I could offer some redemption.” 

Nayeon’s lips twitch before they’re corrected again into a flat line. 

“It’s not everyday my humble palace hosts a disgraced tyrant,” he continues as Sana’s quaking fists raise against her will. “Or one of her whores.” He laughs lightly, melodically. So much like Mina. 

A tidal wave of blue flame roars from Nayeon’s hands, and suddenly Sana is untethered from the strands that hold her under her own body. On instinct, she splits this burning sea with her hands, then snaps back to rigidness. 

Behind her, the chief claps once in delight. Sana can hear his robes rustling as he rises from the throne. She can feel the hand resting gently on her shoulder, but every instinct to shrink away, to hurt or to run, slams against a steel wall before her muscles can understand. 

“I must say, I’m relieved you didn’t bring the other one. What was her name?” There’s a cold hand on her throat. “Tell me.” 

Sana’s diaphragm thrusts against her lungs, pushing out a breath. She moves her lips just barely around it. “Momo.” 

“Momo,” he repeats, patting her back. As if in appreciation. “It wouldn’t have been fair.” 

Another spasm wracks Sana. Electricity spits from her fingertips, ripping through the still air of the throne room straight at Nayeon’s chest. 

The other firebender leaps away, screaming Sana’s name before control is once again seized from her. 

“You will save yourself.” The chief says sadly, returning to slump in his throne. “You can’t help it.” 

In the forest, Jihyo forces blaze after blaze, painting collages of yellow and red and white through the frame of trees and fallen bodies. 

Stone fists fly, too, their winged fingers cinching throats. 

Tzuyu has come down from her perch to stand in a tight circle with Chaeyoung and the Fire Lord. Together, they’re a hybrid of elements, bodies moving in uncanny synchronization. When one swivels to aim, the others duck down, giving enough range of motion to complete the next kill. 

But still, there are too many. 

“Oh fucking hell,” Jihyo harshes as her heartbeat flickers, their attacks not enough to stifle the bloodbenders before they can pull at her blood. 

Tzuyu is trying to sever them first. 

An arrow weighs as much as a thin branch, a feather, a thumbnail of metal. 

An arrow is not enough. 

It is less like a battle and more like a dance to the rhythm of Momo’s heartbeat. 

Mina catches herself smiling helplessly whenever the firebender’s hands sync with her’s, the world singing in twin tones of water and fire. 

None of the bloodbenders have even gotten close. 

Still, Mina keeps a strand of her attention on the blood in Momo’s body. Every time it stutters, Mina forces it to flow rightly again. 

The salt wind cools the sweat on her back as they move in tandem again, ruining everything but themselves. 

Whenever Jeongyeon tightens her lips against the tsungi horn’s mouthpiece, the pitch bends higher. 

It’s a nice distraction. It’s almost like the shrillness of the sound holds back the anxieties trying to form into words. 

Almost. 

When she hears footsteps, she turns to see the guard approaching. 

No.

Not a guard. 

A girl.

Jeongyeon can’t tell if she’s unusually small or just dwarfed by the heavy furs draped over her shoulders. Or maybe it’s the flickering of her pupils, the shaking of her hands as she raises them. 

“Are you the Fire Lord?” 

Jeongyeon laughs heartily, shifting the horn away from her mouth. 

Her heart stammers shut in her chest. 

In the tomb of ice, the chief has found a perfect pattern. 

Sana submits lightning. 

Nayeon dodges in the second of freedom she is given when he unhooks himself from her blood.

Then she sends her own blue flames, driven from her wrists by stiff, unfamiliar movements. 

Occasionally, from his seat on the throne behind Sana, the chief will applaud. 

At some point, Nayeon knows, she’ll falter. Or Sana will. She can’t decide which is better. 

They’re nothing but dolls now, blank-faced as they attempt, again and again, to ash each other away. 

She wants to take comfort in the fact that Sana’s eyes are nearly red with rage. At least one of them can hate him, right now. All Nayeon can think of, when lightning rips from Sana’s fingertips, is fear. She knows it’s plain in her own pupils. She knows Sana hates that, too— Nayeon’s weakness, Sana’s absolute inability to comfort her now. 

‘A thunderstorm shouldn’t be able to defeat a Fire Lord,’ her uncle used to say before he’d flare his own sparks against Nayeon’s flesh. She was supposed to be able to redirect it, supposed to take it through the vector of her own body and make it harmless. But, always, her muscles stiffened as she instead swallowed the pain down into herself, scars searing over her back.

Sana and Momo had tried to teach her, more gentle, whispering assurances into her ears as they simply traced their fingers in the path the lightning should take— from the fingertips of one hand, curling the length of one arm, over the line of her shoulders, and then through the other hand. But it never mattered. Whenever the sky lit itself with sound and fire, she’d whimper like the child she never was able to climb out of. 

And now she and Sana will either die in each other’s flames or with quick-stopped hearts when Mina’s father finally bores of this coward’s puppet show. 

Jihyo grapples Tzuyu into an embrace as Chaeyoung raises a crag of earth between them and the bloodbending horde. 

Stones spray back from the force of it, loosened dirt spitting in Chaeyoung’s eyes. 

Behind her, she can feel Dahyun land squarely on the ground. 

“Okay,” the other warrior starts. “This is our last stand, let’s—” 

“No.” Jihyo hisses, though her eyes are wide and pleading. “No more plans. Take it down,” the Fire Lord mutters, and so Chaeyoung flattens the Earth. The battalion of bloodbenders stand in the filtered moonlight, water helixed around them. When Jihyo raises her arms in surrender, the archer and two remaining Kyoshi Warriors do the same.

“I am Fire Lord Jihyo,” she glares. “These three with me are not firebenders, they are not Fire Nation citizens. If you let them go, I will yield.” 

“You’ve already yielded,” one of the bloodbenders, a woman with a narrow face, shouts back. 

“Reinforcements are coming,” Jihyo bluffs easily. “The entirety of the Fire Nation fleet is closing in. Thousands of soldiers are waiting in the palace walls. Take me as a prisoner and you won’t lose any more of your people.” 

“She’s lying,” someone calls, but the bloodbenders are still. Hushed voices rise from their ranks, arguing just below audibility. 

“Let them go.” Jihyo’s voice is unwavering, but Chaeyoung knows she is afraid by the trembling of her raised hands. 

The cicadas trill. 

“Tie her up,” the narrow-faced woman says. 

None of the bloodbenders move. 

Chaeyoung’s eyes flick between Dahyun, even paler than normal, and Tzuyu, whose hands fall to the silk tie around her tunic. She unknots it, then gingerly takes Jihyo’s hands behind her back, locking the Fire Lord’s wrists together. 

The tall archer then leans forward, her lips almost brushing Jihyo’s ear as she whispers to her. Chaeyoung can’t make it out. 

As Jihyo walks forward, into the jaws of the bloodbenders, she looks over her shoulder. 

Chaeyoung is running before the firebender’s last smile can meet her eyes. If it ever does. 

Jeongyeon slumps against the stone ledge she had been seated on, gasping for breath. 

The girl hinges her heart, then releases. There are tears in her eyes. She’s been trying, again and again, for the past few minutes, though to the diplomat it now feels like hours. 

“Stop,” Jeongyeon pleads. “Please just—” The pain isn’t like what Jihyo had described to her. This girl isn’t strong, maybe too young, too inexperienced to be in a battle like this one. When she sobs, Jeongyeon takes the opportunity to draw a deep, full breath. The waterbender crumples to her knees, whispering harshly. It sounds like she’s scolding herself. 

“Don’t do that either,” Jeongyeon says, raising her hands, palms flat and forward, in a peace offering. “I won’t hurt you.” 

The girl sniffles, wiping her tears quickly with a sleeve. “I—”

“What’s your name?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“I’m Jeongyeon.” She forces the corners of her mouth into a smile. Hopefully the girl is as bad at reading facial expressions as bloodbending. “See? If you killed me, you’d never know that.” 

Clouds move over the moon, dappling the light over the parapet. 

“Mina,” the girl says. 

“Ah. She’s not here, either.” 

The girl’s thin eyebrows knit in confusion, maybe distaste. “What?” 

“Mina isn’t here. To be honest, I’m not sure I should be telling you—” 

“Mina _is_ here.” The girl’s eyes flash dangerously. “I’m Mina.” 

A laugh unsettles from Jeongyeon’s chest. “No, you aren’t. But thanks for the joke.” It’s been nearly impossible to get some levity in the last few hours, not that she can really blame anyone. 

“You really are as stupid as you look,” the girl says with a roll of her eyes. Jeongyeon has made peace deals with kings and criminals, but never a teenager. 

“Hey hey hey. You’re the one who can’t even bloodbend properly on a full moon.” The diplomat can’t help her smirk. She can’t help going a little further. “And you’re _crying_ about it.” 

Not Mina raises her hands again, eyes menacing. 

Jeongyeon feels nothing. “Since I’m so stupid and you’re so useless, how about we talk instead. You can spell this little riddle out for me.” 

“It’s not a riddle.” The waterbender sits up proudly. “ _I_ am Princess Mina of the Southern Water Tribe.” 

Teenagers.

“Ah, so I was still technically right. My Mina is from the Northern Water Tribe. Are you here for Nayeon’s hand in marriage too? Because I hate to break it to you, but she’s a bit too old for—” 

“Ew,” Other Mina groans. 

“I agree.” Jeongyeon yawns. “So what brings an untalented waterbender like yourself to a besieged palace on a night like this?” 

The girl sneers. “To kill the Fire Lord, of course.” 

The diplomat hums. “You know, the funny thing about Fire Lords is just when you get rid of one another pops right up.” 

“Maybe you aren't doing it right.” 

“That’s bold, coming from you.”

“ _That’s_ bold coming from a coward.” 

“Sorry, I’m not going to barbecue a kid.” Jeongyeon pops her knuckles anyway. “You’ll just have to wait for our resident war criminal to finish up on the beach.” 

Other Mina twists nervously at the edges of her robe. Against all logic, sympathy blooms somewhere in Jeongyeon’s lungs. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Mina. And honestly, if you don’t do anything stupid, I’ll make sure no one else does either.” One of the tried and true tactics of diplomacy is to keep people talking. “So tell me, do the Water Tribes have a shortage of baby names or what?” 

The girl groans. “My father is just a huge ass-kisser.”

Jeongyeon laughs again. It seems like the girl appreciates that much, at least. “So your Tribe is taking orders from the North?” 

“Yes,” she sighs. “It’s so stupid.” 

“Just a minute ago you seemed excited to go on a murder spree.” 

Fucking teenagers. 

“Well,” she drawls, “the Fire Nation is evil.”

“Do you think I’m evil?”

“I don’t know you,” Other Mina parries.

“You’re pretty good. When you become chief, I won’t mind arguing over treaties.” 

“Girls can’t be chiefs.” 

“That’s stupid.” 

“I know!” Other Mina leans back on her palms, launching into a rant about the customs of her tribe. 

Jeongyeon tries to stifle her smile as she listens. 

Chaeyoung is the fastest, deftly feinting past the pines, then down through the convoluted alleys of the city, then mounting the dunes. She knows Tzuyu and Dahyun are behind her by the feeling of the earth beneath her. 

When she sees Momo and Mina, standing in a wreckage of unmoving bodies, she shouts, waving her arms so they’ll close the middle distance. 

They do, faces smeared black, eyes still wild. 

“It’s Jihyo,” the warrior pants, folding her arms over her head and breathing deeply against her raw throat. “They took her, in the forest.”

“Okay,” Momo says calmly. She squeezes Chaeyoung’s shoulder with a small smile. 

Mina catches the firebender’s sleeve. “I’m with you.” 

Chaeyoung falls to the sand, trying to breathe past the heavy smoke still rising around her. 

If Nayeon had control of her own throat, her own mouth, she’d beg now. She’d howl out for mercy. 

The wall behind her is splintered with Sana’s coerced efforts to kill her, sheets of ice shattering like glass behind her. 

Not a flame has slipped past the other girl, who has been perfectly forced to defend the Water Tribe chief with every second of control she’s had. 

Nayeon can’t blame her. It would be stupid to burn with him. 

But her own selfish heart, when it’s allowed to beat on its own, always takes her down in a heap, shivering against the static in the air. 

They won’t last much longer. 

Someone will make a mistake. Someone will fumble their dodge, wait too long. 

Nayeon can’t know if she’s more afraid it will be her or Sana. 

No matter who wins this puppet Agni Kai, the Chief will kill the victor. 

All Nayeon has power over now is her thoughts. 

She knows Sana is thinking of Momo. She whimpers the name whenever her lungs are released from the bloodbender’s grip. 

The other firebender sprays lightning at Nayeon, who leaps away before her muscles screech to a halt. 

Jihyo stumbles through the underbrush of the forest, thorns stinging against her skin. 

The battalion of bloodbenders surrounds her.

Beside them, a clear river creaks over smooth stones. 

“You were bluffing, weren’t you,” one of them, a man, hisses close to her ear. “Are you even the Fire Lord?” 

She keeps her head up, watching the palace inch closer and closer. 

“Doesn’t matter what she is,” a deeper, gruffer voice says. “The Southern freak already got into the palace. The moon is full.” 

“The moon is full,” echoes through the battalion. It must be an adage. Maybe words of comfort. 

She’ll let them have it, because the night is dark, and then the forest is on fire. Every tree is a tall wick for Momo’s white blaze. Luckily, the roar of that, the wood splintering in the heat, is louder than the screams. 

Jihyo burns the tie around her wrists. Her skin sears, but it doesn’t matter. She can’t put out the fires, but she can bend it away from her. She can force the hot wave up and away and— 

No.

She doesn’t have to.

There are two silhouettes in the blearing heat of the primal blaze. Momo, sinking the flames back into her skin, and Mina, who is weaving the river from its path, soothing over the wailing earth. 

The too-familiar stench of burning flesh rises from the bodies around Jihyo. 

She offers Momo and Mina a quick, stiff nod. She’ll thank them later. For now, her mind operates on a singular pulse of ‘Jeongyeon’ as she dashes through the razed underbrush, pounds against the palace gate, fast until she comes to the parapet where Jeongyeon is seated beside a gaunt teenage girl. 

She holds the tsungi horn in her lap while Jeongyeon raises a hand in greeting, grinning brilliantly. 

“Who the fuck—”

“This is Mina,” the diplomat says. “Not our Mina, obviously. I like this one less.”

The girl scowls, elbowing Jeongyeon roughly in the ribs. 

Jihyo’s lungs strain against all the possible questions she could unleash at—

“Did you guys win yet?”

Nayeon blinks through memories, trying to find the right one. The kind of moment to die to. 

It’s close. 

She needs to be ready. 

Despite the pain, despite the weight of her own body, whenever the Water Tribe chief seizes her blood back to venom she springs, blue flames just as ferocious as the anger in her. Though it’s not for Sana. It’s not for anyone, not even the man on the throne. 

‘You’ll save yourself. You can’t help it.’ 

She has to beat back the selfish instinct. She has to think of Mina, when she first walked into the dining hall months ago, nervously veering toward Jeongyeon. She has to think of Jeongyeon, running through the Fire Nation palace tunnels with her. Jihyo’s broad smile when she wins another rigged game of pai sho. Tzuyu’s hands around a barely bruised peach. Dahyun’s neat handwriting in all the letters they had sent to each other across the ocean. Sana and Momo, inseparable in her mind. She won’t separate them now. Mina, between the two, as Nayeon raised her burning hand to her own face. Mina, in the river as she listed her sins and Nayeon forgave her with each breath. Mina, in the river, forming petals of ice in her hands. 

She’s too tired. Too heavy. The air singes with static. 

Mina, looking into Nayeon’s open mouth, the ice weeping off her tongue. 

She wants to be water. 

To be something Mina can bend, free of guilt. 

To be fluid and fill. 

To melt, endlessly tethered only by Mina’s eyes, to endlessly wonder when they’ll kiss. 

When Sana’s next bolt comes, she welcomes it. She uses her last bit of power over her body to smile and welcome the electric. 

It doesn’t hurt. 

It’s too fast to hurt. 

As the current of lightning dashes past her heart, Nayeon raises a hand. Maybe to say goodbye to Sana, who is flattening herself against the floor now that the chief has briefly released her. 

Maybe because Nayeon’s body, in its desperate need, knows what her mind can’t see past the blur of Mina. 

The lightning leaves. 

It splits across the throne room and grounds itself in the man’s chest.

Mina lays in the sheets of ash that layer the forest floor. Each breath is an effort against the smoke, but there are only two heartbeats left— the one in her chest, and the one in Momo’s. 

The moon, the stars, the black sky are unseeable. 

In her mind, she tries to reform the darkness to be like Nayeon’s face. Her full lips, the mischievous glint in her eyes, the pink burn that rises from her right cheek to singe barely at her hairline. But the nose, the nose is— 

Momo coughs harshly. Her face is smeared with ash, clothes ripped, skin beneath shining with sweat. Still, she crawls forward through the pale orange pine straw. 

When the firebender collapses on her chest, Mina’s arms come up to hesitantly touch the tattered fabric on Momo’s back. 

At first, she thinks the harsh breath against her neck is a sob, but then it sings into a laugh. Momo’s whole body shivers against her, the relief seeping into her with the tears tracking down her soot-soiled cheeks. 

Mina remembers now.

Water wants to be held, like the heart that beats heavy over her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm gonna reserve the sentimental things i have to say for the epilogue 
> 
> also the chapter title is from james 3:6 because i couldn't think of anything better


	25. epilogue

Jeongyeon stands at the edge of the ship, one hip leaned squarely against the railing. She tugs the maroon scarf Jihyo had knitted, now a year ago, tighter around her throat. Maybe she’d light a cigarette right now, cup her hands and let heat bloom into a flame there, but she’s wearing a matching set of gloves. Mina made them, just a month ago, before Jeongyeon sailed down to the South Pole. 

She hears the click of Jihyo’s boots, that familiar rhythm, and when the Fire Lord’s nose bumps against her shoulder with an almost childish affection, Jeongyeon turns in her arms. 

“Don’t ask me how long until we get there,” Jihyo muffles into the wool. 

After a month of pleasantries and peace talks with the Tribe, they’re going to Ember Island for the Fire Lily Festival. At this rate, they might make it for the last couple nights. One thing Jeongyeon dislikes about travel is losing a sense of time while the rest of the world keeps its iron pace. 

She knows it’s different for Jihyo, who has lived her life as a creature of duty. She wakes every day with the dawn, and it’s only at sunset that the tension snakes away from her body. Being Fire Lord for the last nine months, Jeongyeon was relieved at the lack of change. She fit the throne, though not exactly as Nayeon had. 

Part of what had made Nayeon so stunning, sometimes, was her comfort with power. Or, her flawless impression of comfort. Even Jeongyeon could never really figure out where one feeling would blend into the next. 

Jihyo was different. Not better, but different. 

“I love it here,” the Fire Lord sighs, looking out at the open ocean. “Like we could be anywhere in the world, and not even know.” 

“But you do know, right?” 

Jeongyeon can feel the smirk against her cheek. 

“Yes. But let me have my fantasies.” 

“I like being home,” the diplomat sighs. “Where it’s always warm.” 

“Where we're powerful,” Jihyo says, always so plain and honest. In her cupped hands, a flame whispers. 

“Don’t start sounding like a tyrant. You have a good five years before you're supposed to go mad.”

"And what will you do with me then,” the all-powerful monarch huffs into Jeongyeon's fluttering coat. 

“Nothing.” Even at the edge of the earth, the sun is so bright. “I’ll just be in love with a tyrant.” 

The sunlight is heavy and the graves are like sundials, their shadows barely brushing west. 

Dahyun doesn’t visit every day. She had, in the beginning, after they first slumped away from the boat and spent the first night home digging. Chaeyoung could have made it easy. She could have parted the earth for every body with just the strenght of her hands, but Dahyun wanted the work of grief. She wanted to split the soil with the sneer of the shovel, blister her palms, and spend the night sobbing half for the pain in her body and half for the ungrounded, floating pain of knowing people who couldn’t be known anymore. 

But then winter came.

Then spring and summer. 

Every day Dahyun was alive, and the rituals of living cut the grief smaller and smaller. The shovels rusted. Every meal, every dream, was something she now had that the dead wouldn’t. Her hands were unblemished again. 

Sometimes, it did come in bursts, that comfortable ache of grief worn soft like leather. When it does, like now, sitting in the silken grass, Dahyun doesn’t think of the forest of pain or the knife-white full moon. She thinks of winter, imagines the other warriors breathing warmth to their frost-bitten fingers. She thinks of the spring and the summer, when they would have gone out to lay on the beach, shirts shed in the dunes to tan their backs. 

She bears their imaginary lives with her own lucky one. 

She brings the tsungi horn to her lips, and together, they listen to the symphony of cricket trills and wind brushed pines and distant, lilting waves as the golden sound lifts away.

Nayeon lounges on a bench, slitting a knife point against the top of an orange. 

Mina is at the center of the courtyard. She’s been working on the perfect tree for hours, circling her sculpture and critiquing the branches and leaves. The waterbender lets out a little whine of frustration and the ice shatters like glass. 

“I thought it was fine,” Nayeon offers, taking another bite. 

“The trunk is supposed to slope like this.” Mina raises an arm, bending at an odd, almost painful angle. 

“So the tree wasn’t perfect to begin with. You made a better tree than the sun did.” 

Mina turns. 

Sometimes, Nayeon likes her like this: far enough away that she can see everything. The sweep of her nightdress in the moonlight; the articulation of all the muscles and mechanisms of her body beneath; the way her smile starts out as a crescent and then waxes into this brightness. 

The moon is insignificant. 

“A perfect tree wouldn’t look like a tree at all.” 

“I adore you when you’re cryptic.” Nayeon pushes herself up from the bench. 

She leaves the knife. 

She brings the orange. 

“Do you think Momoring will like it?” 

Nayeon beams. She wants to hide it behind her hand, but her arms are around Mina’s waist. “Yeah.”

“Why are you laughing?” Mina pouts. Her eyes are warm. 

“I’m miserable.” 

The waterbender pokes her ribs. “Nayeonie.”

“I really am so miserable.” A salted breeze pulls through the courtyard. “So miserably happy.” 

“I want to show you something.” 

Tzuyu looks up from the table where she’s been sitting for the better part of the day, whittling driftwood with a dulling knife. 

This is how half their conversations start— Chaeyoung standing at the door, already in her boots, a finger tapping impatiently. 

“Okay.” 

The Kyoshi Warrior— though, Tzuyu knows, now she is one too— leads her through the village, then to an unkempt path through the woods. 

Tzuyu is still an archer. She stills sees this place as a world of angles more than a world of trees. 

This evening the wind is moving north just like they are. 

“It’s odd I haven’t seen everything,” Tzuyu says, just to say something. In the months she’s been on the island, Chaeyoung and Dahyun have given her multiple, enthusiastic tours. But there’s always more. 

“You should see the Earth Kingdom,” the warrior calls from up ahead. She’s chivalrously leading so that all the spider webs break on her body instead of Tzuyu’s. “Or Ba Sing Se.”

“Is it beautiful?” 

“Sometimes.” 

They take a breather leaned against a mossy rock.

Tzuyu picks at her fingernail. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?” 

This honey color is one of Tzuyu’s favorite lightings for Chaeyoung’s face. The pale, bluish brightness of the morning is nice too, and the way shadows splash across her face when they sit around a campfire, and the plain, total sunlight of midday and—

“If you go with me.” 

“I would,” Tzuyu blurts. “Or anywhere.” 

“I’ve always wanted to show you this.” Chaeyoung’s hand is over Tzuyu’s, which is over the rock, which is over the earth. “It made me think of you even before I knew you. Which is maybe a silly thing to say.” The warrior laughs softly at herself. “But I like to think that the world kept giving me little ways to see you before I finally did.” 

“That is silly,” Tzuyu whispers. 

“Yeah, well. We’re almost there.” Chaeyoung lifts herself up and stretches her arms over her head. 

It’s only a half mile further, and Tzuyu’s heart is beating too fast for such a short walk. Chaeyoung and Dahyun must have kept whatever this place is a secret, always breaking off the path before they could reach— 

Oh. 

It’s a meadow. 

A meadow of marigolds. 

The yellow flowers spread from hill to hill, unbroken by any scar in the earth, and slip of a river. The wind moves in currents through the stems and Chaeyoung wades in and the flowers are high enough to rush up to her waist. 

Tzuyu grips her own hand tightly. “Why did you wait so long to show me?”

“I just wanted you to understand.” 

“Understand what?” 

Chaeyoung looks back with her easy, silly smile. 

When the Fire Lily Festival fireworks start spitting against the sky, Sana is sitting in the sand. 

Back at the beach house, Jeongyeon and Jihyo are drinking themselves into the same seasickness they had happily complained about all afternoon. 

Further down the dark beach, the silhouettes of Momo and Mina are getting fainter as they walk together. 

“You smell like the pines,” Nayeon says. 

Sana leans closer to her friend, taking an exaggerated breath when her nose brushes against Nayeon’s silk collar. “You don’t smell like ash.” 

A barrage of white slaps across the sky. 

“A year ago I was watching this alone,” Nayeon sighs happily. 

“I was here.” Sana remembers laying beside Momo as the fireworks fizzle out in the frame of the courtyard roof. It seems like it was a lifetime ago, or maybe some alternate version of herself who saw the sun rise every sleepless morning from this very angle. 

It’s easy to pretend that she had always lived in the mountains. 

She had always had this exact ring. She had never left, never sold any part of herself to anyone. She had never seen the palace, and never hurt anyone, and tonight is the first time she has seen the ocean. 

That’s the story she tells herself when she wakes in the house they built in a clearing near the graves of Momo’s dead village. 

It’s the story that starts just the same— in the forest where she met Momo— and then Momo never burns it down. 

But then, Sana knows, the most perfect story wouldn’t have her in it at all. In the perfect story, Momo wouldn’t be what she is so she would never hate what she is, so she would never run out to the forest to hide and Sana would never have followed her. 

“I can tell when you’re thinking horrible things,” Nayeon’s voice startles her back into this world where the sea is clinging to their ankles. 

Sana takes her friend’s hand between her own. “Should I think about you instead?” 

Nayeon grins victoriously. She’s looking down the beach, where Momo and Mina’s footprints trail off into the darkness. “She really likes it here, by the water.” 

“And you do too?” 

“I can make a fire anywhere.” Nayeon yawns. “And maybe I’ll never need to.” 

“Jeongyeonie says everyone thinks their war will be the last.” 

“She’s never been an optimist.” 

Sana stirs a shape in the sand. “Do you sleep well?” 

“Mostly.” Nayeon chews her lip, like she’s considering the level of honesty she’s allowed before remembering it’s just Sana beside her. “Sometimes I get afraid he’s still in me, somewhere.” 

“Me too.” 

On the worst nights, Sana wakes up rigid and electric. It’s only Momo, dutifully running her hands along Sana’s body, that can remind her each muscle is her own. 

“In a lot of ways, I’m thankful. I loved Mina.” Nayeon raises a fist and the sand falls back to the beach like water. “but I didn’t understand her.” 

“Pain can be instructive, I guess,” Sana admits. 

“I wish we didn’t need it.” Nayeon lets her head fall to Sana’s shoulder. “Wishing isn’t worth much, but I wish I hadn’t made you suffer any of it with me.” 

“I wouldn’t do it again,” Sana whispers because any louder it might not seem true. “But whatever’s next—“

“There isn’t a next.” 

Each new set of fireworks illuminate the plumes of smoke in the sky. 

Nayeon shifts away to lay back against the sand, her arms folded behind her head. “This is all there is.” 

Mina knows the full life of each wave. When it rises and rushes and curls, then leaves itself splayed against the beach, then rides its own force back into the sea. 

It’s especially beautiful tonight. 

Most people look at the sky for fireworks, but Mina is looking down at the water. Here they don’t splinter or crack— they bloom out against the surface, reds and oranges and whites that otherwise the ocean never could have tasted. 

Mina can feel where the water wraps itself around each person— Jihyo and Jeongyeon and Sana and Momo— and then the blood in their bodies, flushing at different tempos. 

They’re like candles in a dark house. 

They’re like a map through a frozen maze. 

And then there’s Nayeon, treading water just behind her as they swim out to the sandbar. 

This is their little kingdom. It’s only wide enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder, and that’s as wide as it needs to be. Mina will love every part of it because it’s her’s. There’s nowhere to be lost. 

Nayeon twitches when pink lightning fuzzes against the clouds out at sea. 

Mina slips a hand under Nayeon’s shirt to gently touch her back. “It’s far off.” 

“The wind is blowing this way,” Nayeon murmurs. “It’ll probably rain all night.” 

Mina hums. Around her, the ocean is calm and dark and deep beneath the waves. 

“You’ll have to hold me.”

Mina scratches lightly at Nayeon’s back. “Have to?”

“I’ll ask politely.” 

“You could ask right now.” 

There are scars Mina can’t heal— the burn on Nayeon’s cheek, the lightning etched up the spine she’s tracing with her fingertip. All of that now was an ancient and faultless as canyons through the earth or volcanos blossoming from the faces of mountains. 

“I was born when you first kissed me,” Mina says, because it’s still easier to be honest when the moon is above her like an anchor and Nayeon is beside her like an open door. 

Nayeon laughs easily, and it would defeat something in Mina if she couldn’t feel the pulse fluttering beneath her hand. “Then it’s almost your birthday.”

Here’s what will happen:

They’ll swim back to the shore, and then walk back to the beach house with Sana and Jihyo skipping ahead, singing. Mina will make their nightly tea and find Nayeon half-asleep in the bathtub, washing the sand away from her skin. They’ll lay out shirtless and flat on the bed, then spread aloe over the careless sunburns on their shoulders. When it starts to rain, they’ll fall asleep because the sound is a comfort to Mina and Mina’s hand on Nayeon’s back is a comfort to Nayeon. Their friends will filter from the island to go home, and they’ll stay. 

It’s the sort of life Mina had never fooled herself into hoping for, but now it’s laid out like the path light makes on the sea. All they have to do is wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, and what they’ve won will still be here. The earth will spin through its seasons, the ocean through its tides, the trees through their constant inching growth. 

She’ll grow up with her girl on fire again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few months ago, i read this interview with the filmmaker chantal akerman, and she said that often people think it’s the greatest compliment to say they don’t notice time passing when they watch movies. that’s supposed to be the joy of it. you shut your own thoughts out, you get to live in another world. but, for her, she feels the weight of every second, especially with her own films, because she sees it as taking two hours from someone’s life.
> 
> i am so grateful for, so humbled by however many hours of your life you gave reading this imperfect story. i hope i gave you something too. 
> 
> [<3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOgFt70GB4c)


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